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DON QUIXOTE 

OF LA MANCHA 



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DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE 



* 



THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN 

DON QUIXOTE 

OF LA MANCHA 
By MIGUEL DE CERVANTES 



EDITED BY CLIFTON JOHNSON 
FOR SCHOOL AND HOME READING 

WITH TEX ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited 
1899 



All rights reserved 






31185 



Copyright, 1890, 
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



TWO VED. 



2118 1 



XcrbacatJ ^Srrss 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith 

Xorwood Mass. U.S.A. 






NOTE 

The present edition of Don Quixote is made for 
popular use in homes and schools. 

The complete edition is not suited to such use, inas- 
much as it contains not a little of the coarseness that 
characterizes all the novels of the age in which it was 
written. This the present edition omits. 

It omits also some of the more bloody and offensive 
details of certain adventures on the ground that they 
can hardly be delectable to any one, and that as food 
for the imagination of young readers they are decid- 
edly objectionable. 

The book in its entirety is exceedingly long. It 
contains many digressions, and its minor characters 
have a habit of telling long-winded lovers' tales that 
have nothing to do with the main story. All such 
matter has been left out or cut down. Yet in no 
instance has anything vital been sacrificed, and, except 
for omissions, the original text is practically unchanged. 

The one effort has been to bring the book down 
to readable proportions without excluding any really 
essential incident or detail, and at the same time to 
make the text thoroughly clean and wholesome. 

The translation is John Ormsby's, which, in its clear- 
ness and vivacity and its faithfulness to the original, is 
unquestionably the best English version ever made. 

v 



INTRODUCTION 

Macaulay said of " Don Quixote " that it was " cer- 
tainly the best novel in the world beyond all compari- 
son." He said this in the enthusiasm and enjoyment 
of re-reading the book, and perhaps the statement is 
too sweeping. Yet it is undoubtedly true that " Don 
Quixote " has drawn to itself more readers than almost 
any other work of fiction ever written. Probably no 
book except the Bible has exceeded it in the number 
of translations into foreign languages and the multi- 
plicity of editions. 

It was written by Miguel Cervantes, a man who for 
a score of years in his early life was a humble Spanish 
soldier, and who nearly all his remaining years was a 
visionary ne'er-do-well, often changing both his place 
of abode and his employment. He was born in the 
year 1547 in the city of Alcala, a few miles east of 
Madrid. What we know of him is curiously little. 
No portrait that there is the least reason to believe is 
authentic has come down to us, and no one while 
-Cervantes lived took the trouble to describe his per- 
sonality or to give even the slenderest sketch of the 
main incidents of his interesting career. It was not 
till more than a hundred years after his death that 



viii Introduction 

inquiry began to be made as to who the author of the 
famous book was, and what kind of life he had lived. 
By that time all direct knowledge of the great novelist 
had disappeared. The writers of Cervantes' day re- 
ceived scant attention from their contemporaries, and 
what we know of the author of " Don Quixote," just 
as what we know of Shakespeare, is nearly all picked 
up from formal documents of one kind and another. 

Cervantes came of an ancient family,, some of whose 
members held high office in the service of church and 
state, and certain of whom fought in the medieval 
wars against the Moors, and were true knights- errant. 
But at the time Cervantes was born the family fortunes 
had declined, and poverty and hardship haunted his 
footsteps until he was a gray old man. 

He received an ordinary school education, and at 
the age of twenty-one we find him in the employ of a 
dignitary of the church. He was on the road to cer- 
tain advancement and prosperity, but to a person of 
his active mind the employment was prosaic and dull, 
and within two years he had resigned and enlisted 
as a common soldier. 

It was a stirring time. Spain was at war with Tur- 
key, and Cervantes had not long to wait for an expe- 
rience of battle. He had embarked on one of the 
galleys of Don John of Austria and was lying sick 
below when the fleet encountered the Turks on Octo- 
ber 7, 15 71. But in spite of his fever and disregard- 
ing all remonstrances Cervantes rose from his bed 
and insisted on taking his post. The vessel on which 
he served was in the thick of the fight and he was 



Introduction ix 

thrice wounded. So severe were the wounds that he 
afterward lay seven months in the hospital at Messina. 

He came from the hospital with his left hand per- 
manently disabled, yet the injury was not such as to 
wholly unfit him for service, and he at once returned 
to the army. That he was a brave and faithful soldier 
is attested by the fact that when he sailed from Naples 
for Spain, after three years' further campaigning, he 
bore letters from Don John recommending him to the 
king for the command of a company. 

Unluckily the vessel on which he took passage fell 
in with a squadron of pirate galleys from Algiers and 
was overpowered. The capture of Christians was a 
regular trade on the Mediterranean. At first these 
captures had been made to gain slaves for rowers, 
dockyard laborers, and the like. But the sufferings 
of the victims moved their countrymen at home to 
raise money and buy their release. This aggravated 
the evil. If the Christians could be exchanged for 
money here was an additional motive for capturing as 
many as possible. 

Cervantes contrived to let his relatives know of his 
condition ; and to raise sufficient ransom money his 
father sold all he possessed, and his two sisters gave 
up their marriage portions. The ransom arrived, but 
meanwhile Cervantes' master had found on him letters 
addressed to the king by Don John, and concluded 
his prize must be a person of considerable conse- 
quence. He therefore declared the money offered 
was altogether insufficient, and Cervantes' release was 
indefinitely postponed. Indeed it was not till five 



x Introduction 

years later that his friends secured a large enough 
sum to free him. During his captivity he made a 
number of attempts to escape, but his plans were 
every time betrayed, and more than once he came 
very near forfeiting his life as a punishment. 

On his return to Spain, utterly penniless as he was 
he had no choice but to join his old regiment. Cam- 
paigning, however, had lost its charm. He had reached 
middle age. hope of promotion was gone, and he pres- 
ently abandoned army life for good. He had long 
before shown a literary inclination, and had written 
poems which in certain quarters had been warmly 
praised. Now he went to work on a pastoral ro- 
mance, for which in 1585 he found a publisher. But 
it brought him little of either profit or fame. 

About this time Cervantes married. His wife 
brought a dowry with her, but this was hardly large 
enough to do more than keep the wolf from the door. 

In the several years that followed Cervantes turned 
his attention seriously to producing plays for the stage. 
It was not long before he was the author of a score or 
more. He says they were performed without any 
throwing of cucumbers or other missiles, and this 
negative praise is about all they merited. They were 
undoubtedly commonplace, their reception was luke- 
warm, and their author was forced to find some other 
source of income. 

He secured an appointment in 15 88 as deputy pur- 
veyor to the fleet known to history as "The Invincible 
Armada." Later he became a collector of revenues 
for the kingdom of Granada, and got himself into 



Introduction xi 

trouble through remitting money to the treasury by 
a merchant who failed and absconded. Cervantes 
was not able to make up the sum lost and was thrown 
into prison. But at the end of three months he suc- 
ceeded in furnishing satisfactory security and was 
released. 

He was free, yet the outlook must have been a 
dismal one. He was not only in debt, but he had 
lost his position as collector. Just how he supported 
himself in the next few years is uncertain. It is sup- 
posed he derived some income from agencies and 
clerical work of some sort, while there is reason to 
believe that his wife and daughter did needlework 
for persons in attendance on the court. 

The turn of the tide came in 1605 when the first 
part of " Don Quixote " appeared. It had been fin- 
ished for some months, perhaps years, but Cervantes 
had difficulty in finding a publisher willing to print 
so unusual a book. It was not an ordinary novel. It 
was simply a burlesque of the popular tales of chivalry. 
Would any one care to read such a book? It seemed 
doubtful. But when it came out the public bought it 
eagerly, and within a year five editions had been 
printed, and it was known throughout Spain. 

Cervantes must have found the success of his book 
gratifying, yet it was his ambition to succeed as a 
dramatist, and " Don Quixote" was to him of minor 
importance. It was his disposition to be sanguine 
and cheerful under all difficulties, and the repeated 
failure of his plays did not dissuade him from writing 
others. Yet by his plays he never achieved even a 



xii Introduction 

mediocre success. Practically the same can be said 
of his attempts at romance and poetry. They rarely 
rose above the ordinary. In them he did his fine 
writing, and was more or less bound by the traditions 
of the times — that is, he wrote them in the prevailing 
fashion, and there was nothing vital in them either in 
matter or manner. "Don Quixote" was not made 
on this principle. It came from deeper in the au- 
thor's heart, although Cervantes was not aware of it ; 
for he wrote the book carelessly, and never took the 
trouble to correct its proofs. Yet it became immortal. 
His other works are simply more or less clever mech- 
anisms, while " Don Quixote," written with a free hand 
independent of rules, has enduring charm. 

It was at once clear that the public would like more 
of this crazy knight- errant and of Sancho Panza, his 
hardly less entertaining squire, and in the course of 
time Cervantes started on a second part. But he 
wrote only by fits and starts. It was a threshing over 
the old straw, and he easily tired of the task. The 
work lingered on his hands for years, and there was 
danger of his never finishing it, when a spurious second 
part appeared that put him in a great rage. He put 
everything else aside and hurried his own second part 
to an end, interlarding the final chapters with frequent 
scoldings administered to the author of the false 
"Don Quixote." The book appeared in 1615, but 
only in spots did it approach the quality of the first 
part, and it never had the same attraction for the 
public. 

A few months later Cervantes died, and was buried 



Introduction xiii 

in a Madrid convent of which it is supposed his 
daughter was an inmate. In his final years he had 
happily enjoyed more comfort than at any previous 
period. He had a home in a good quarter of the 
capital city, he had made important friends, and he 
had a much better income than hitherto from his writ- 
ings. At the time of his death thirty thousand copies 
of the first part of " Don Quixote " had been printed 
and a large number of the second part. 

From that time till the present the flow of new 
editions has been unceasing. The book appeals to 
people of all sorts, yet for a great while it seemed to 
be esteemed a mere book of drollery, not entitled 
to any special consideration. Nearly all the editions 
for more than a century and a half were badly and 
carelessly printed on cheap paper and bound in the 
style of cheap books intended for popular use only. 
It took a long time to discover that it was a notable 
work of literature. 

" Don Quixote " came into being as a protest against 
the unreality of the novels of chivalry which at that 
time were so popular that they were apparently having 
a marked effect on the national life and turning the 
people into a race of sentimentalists. i\n old writer 
says that it was "next to impossible to walk the streets 
with any delight or without danger, so many cavaliers 
were prancing and curvetting before the windows of 
'their mistresses." It was a wholly unnatural and the- 
atrical revival of knight-errantry. But, with the appear- 
ance of "Don Quixote," playing the gallant after this 
manner took on a new aspect. The person who did 



xiv Introduction 

so was twitted by high and low, and these fantastic 
love scenes became things of the past, while the novels 
that inspired them went out of fashion. 

The humor of Cervantes' book is not wholly per- 
ceived without some knowledge of the region in which 
the scenes are laid. La Mancha, of all the districts 
of Spain, is the last to suggest romance. It lies about 
fifty miles south of Madrid, and is the dullest tract of 
all the dull central plateau of the peninsula. The 
landscape has the sameness of the desert without its 
dignity. The few towns and villages that break its 
denuded, inhospitable monotony are mean and com- 
monplace. It is the most unpromising field for the 
exploiting of knight-errantry that could be imagined. 
This incongruity is symbolic of all the contrasts of the 
book, and is what, to a large degree, it owes its humor. 
The Don's imagination makes something extraordinary 
out of the most prosaic incidents. Whenever he acts 
he gets into trouble. He is a misfit, always. His world 
and the real world continually clash, much to his 
astonishment. Yet while one laughs at him, it is not 
without sympathy, — the forlornness of the crack- 
brained knight touches one, and, besides, he is hon»est, 
well-disposed, and brave, and has a boyish eagerness 
and precipitation that one likes. When duty calls 
away he goes and consequences must take care of 
themselves — not a bad attitude if one is judicious 
about it. 

Sancho Panza impresses himself on the reader 
almost as strongly as his master does. There is a 
winning quality about his simplicity and the faithful- 



Introduction xv 

ness of his service. He sticks to the knight through 
thick and thin, and more than half believes in all his 
fancies. Sancho has no imagination himself. He 
sees only the plain facts, the plain prose of things, yet 
there is a magnetism about the visions of his master's 
mind that draws him on. There is a great deal of 
human nature brought out in these contrasted per- 
sonalities and the entirely different view they have of 
everything. 

So they exist — two of the most notable creations 
in all fiction, whose adventures have given multitudes 
pleasure in the past, and which will give still greater 
multitudes pleasure in the future. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

Which treats of the character and pursuits of the famous 

gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha I 

CHAPTER II 

Which treats of the first sally the ingenious Don Quixote 

made from home . ...... 7 

CHAPTER III 

Wherein is related the droll way in which Don Quixote 

had himself dubbed a knight . . . . .16 

CHAPTER IV 
Of what happened to our knight when he left the inn . 25 

CHAPTER V 

Of the diverting and important scrutiny which the curate 
and the barber made in the library of our ingenious 
gentleman ......... 41 

CHAPTER VI 

Of the second sally of our worthy knight Don Quixote of 

La Mancha 46 

xvii 



xviii Contents 



CHAPTER VII 

PAGE 

Of the good fortune which the valiant Don Quixote had in 
the terrible and undreamt-of adventure of the wind- 
mills, with other occurrences worthy to be fitly 
recorded . . . 53 

CHAPTER VIII 

Of the pleasant discourse that passed between Don 

Quixote and his squire Sancho Panza ... 66 

CHAPTER IX 
Of what befell Don Quixote with certain goatherds . . 74 

CHAPTER X 
Of what a goatherd related to those with Don Quixote . 80 

CHAPTER XI 

In which is ended the story of the shepherdess Marcela, 

with other incidents ....... 87 

CHAPTER XII 

In which is related the unfortunate adventure that Don 
Quixote fell in with when he fell out with certain 
heartless Yanguesans 99 

CHAPTER XIII 

Of what the brave Don Quixote and his good squire 
Sancho Panza endured at the inn which to his mis- 
fortune he took to be a castle ..... 107 



Contents xix 



CHAPTER XIV 

PAGE 

In which is related the discourse Sancho Panza held with 
his master, Don Quixote, together with other adven- 
tures worth relating 116 

CHAPTER XV 

Of the adventure that befell the ingenious gentle- 
man with a dead body, together with other notable 
occurrences .128 

CHAPTER XVI 

Of the unexampled and unheard-of adventure which was 
achieved by the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha 
with less peril than any ever achieved by any famous 
knight in the world ....... 137 

CHAPTER XVII 

Which treats of the exalted adventure and rich prize of 
Mambrino's helmet, together with other things that 
happened to our invincible knight .... 147 

CHAPTER XVIII 

Of the strange adventure which befell the valiant Don 

Quixote with the bold Knight of the Grove . .158 

CHAPTER XIX 

Wherein it is told and made known who the Knight of the 

Grove and his squire were 165 

CHAPTER XX 
Of the famous adventure of the enchanted bark . . 179 



xx Contents 



CHAPTER XXI 

PAGE 

Of the happily achieved adventure of the lions . . .185 



CHAPTER XXII 

Of the freedom Don Quixote conferred on several unfortu- 
nates who against their will were being carried where 
they had no wish to go 193 

CHAPTER XXIII 

Of what befell Don Quixote in the Sierra Morena, which 
was one of the rarest adventures related in this vera- 
cious history 202 

CHAPTER XXIV 
In which is continued the adventure of the Sierra Morena 215 

CHAPTER XXV 

Which treats of the strange things that happened to the 
stout knight of La Mancha in the Sierra Morena, and 
of his imitation of the penance of Beltenebros . . 224 

CHAPTER XXVI 

In which are continued the refinements wherewith Don 
Quixote played the part of a lover in the Sierra 
Morena 238 

CHAPTER XXVII 

Of how the curate and the barber proceeded with their 
scheme; together with other matters worthy of record 
in this great history 245 



Contents xxi 



CHAPTER XXVIII 



PAGE 



Which treats of the strange and delightful adventure that 

befell the curate and the barber in the same sierra . 256 

CHAPTER XXIX 

Which treats of the droll device and method adopted to 
extricate our love-stricken knight from the severe 
penance he had imposed on himself . . . 264 

■ 
CHAPTER XXX 

Which treats of the address displayed by the fair Doro- 
thea, with other matters pleasant and amusing . . 276 

CHAPTER XXXI 

Of the delectable discussion between Don Quixote and 
Sancho Panza, his squire, together with other inci- 
dents - 284 

CHAPTER XXXII 

Which treats of the heroic and prodigious battle Don 

Quixote had with certain skins of red wine . . 297 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

Which treats of more curious incidents that occurred at 

the inn . ....... 302 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

In which is continued the story of the famous Princess 

Micomicona, with other droll adventures . . . 309 

CHAPTER XXXV 

Which treats of the curious discourse Don Quixote deliv- 
ered on arms and letters, and of what further took 
place in the inn ....... 319 



xxii Contents 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

PAGE 

Wherein is related the pleasant story of the muleteer, to- 
gether with other strange things that came to pass in 
the inn ......... 325 

CHAPTER XXXVII 
In which are continued the unheard-of adventures at the 



336 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 



In which the doubtful question of Mambrino's helmet and 
the pack-saddle is finally settled, with other adven- 
tures that occurred in truth and earnest . . . 348 

CHAPTER XXXIX 

Of the end of the notable adventure of the officers of the 
Holy Brotherhood; and of the great ferocity of our 
worthy knight Don Quixote . . ... . 359 

CHAPTER XL 

Of the strange manner in which Don Quixote of La 
Mancha was carried away enchanted, together with 
other remarkable incidents ..... 369 

CHAPTER XLI 

Which treats of the shrewd conversation which Sancho 
Panza held with his master D01. Quixote, together 
with other incidents ...... 380 

CHAPTER XLII 

Of the quarrel that Don Quixote had wit'- the goatherd, 
together with the rare adventure o: the penitents, 
which with an expenditure of sweat he brought to a 
happy conclusion* 3$8 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE 

Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

DON QUIXOTE ATTACKS THE WINDMILLS . . • 54 

TOSSING SANCHO IN A BLANKET II3 

THE ENCOUNTER WITH THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS . 1 72 

IN THE ENCHANTED BARK 1S2 

DON QUIXOTE BRAVING THE LION 1 89 

GINES DE PASSAMONTE STEALING DAPPLE . . . 204 

DON QUIXOTE DOING PENANCE IN THE SIERRA MORENA . 237 

THE KNIGHT OF LA MANCHA BATTLING WITH THE WINE- 
SKINS 299 

DON QUIXOTE ENCHANTED IN THE CAGE . . 37I 

xxiii 



DON QUIXOTE 

OF LA MANCHA 



CHAPTER I 

WHICH TREATS OF THE CHARACTER AND PURSUITS OF 
THE FAMOUS GENTLEMAN DON QUIXOTE OF LA 

IN a village of La Mancha there lived not long since 
one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the 
lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a 
greyhound for coursing. Beef stew, a salad on most 
nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a 
pigeon or so extra on Sundays, made away with three- 
quarters of his income. The rest of it went in a 
doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes 
to match for holidays, while on week-days he made a 
brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his 
house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, 
and a lad for the field and market-place, who used to 
saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The 
age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty : 

1 La Mancha : a province in the south of Spain. See Intro- 
duction. 



i Don Quixote 

he was of a hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very 
early riser, and a great sportsman. They will have it 
his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is 
some difference of opinion among the authors who 
write on the subject). This, however, is of but little 
importance to our tale ; it will be enough not to stray 
a hair's breadth from the truth in the telling of it. 

You must know, then, that the above-named gentle- 
man whenever he was at leisure (which was mostly all 
the year round) gave himself up to reading books : i 
chivalry with such ardor and avidity that he almost 
entirely neglected the pursuit of his field-sports, and 
even the management of his property ; and to such a 
pitch did his eagerness and infatuation go that he sold 
many an acre of tillage-land to buy books of chivalry 
to read, and brought home as many of them as he 
could get. 

Indeed, he became so absorbed in his books that 
he spent his nights from sunset to sunrise, and his 
days from dawn to dark, poring over them ; and what 
with little sleep and much reading his brains got so 
dry that he lost his wits. His fancy grew full of what 
he used to read about in his books, enchantments, 
quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, Loves, 
agonies, and all sorts of impossible nonsense : a:; 
so possessed his mind that the whole fabric of inven- 
tion and fancy he read of was true, that to him no 
history in the world had more reality in it. 

In short, his wits being quite gone, he hit on : 
strangest notion that ever madman in this world hi! 
on, and that was that he fancied it was right and 



Chapter I 3 

requisite, as well for the support of his own honor as 
for the service of his country, that he should make a 
knight- errant of himself, roaming the world over in 
full armor and on horseback in quest of adventures, 
and putting in practice himself all that he had read 
of as being the usual practices of knights-errant ; 
righting every kind of wrong, and exposing himself to 
peril and danger from which, in the issue, he was to 
reap eternal renown and fame. Already the poor man 
saw himself crowned by the might of his arm Emperor 
of a province at least ; and so, led away by the intense 
enjoyment he found in these pleasant fancies, he set 
himself forthwith to put his scheme into execution. 

The first thing he did was to clean up some armor 
that had belonged to his great-grandfather, and had 
been for ages lying forgotten in a corner, eaten with 
rust and covered with mildew. He scoured and 
polished it as best he could, but he perceived one 
great defect in it, that it had no closed helmet, 
nothing but a simple morion. This deficiency, how- 
ever, his ingenuity supplied, for he contrived a kind 
of half-helmet of pasteboard which, fitted on to the 
morion, looked like a whole one. It is true that, in 
order to see if it was strong and fit to stand a cut, he 
drew his sword and gave it a slash which undid in an 
instant what had taken him a week to do. The ease 
with which he had knocked it to pieces disconcerted 
him somewhat, and to guard against that danger he 
set to work again, ( fixing bars of iron on the inside 
until he was satisfied with its strength; and then, 
not caring to .try any more experiments with it, he 



4 Don Quixote 

adopted it as a helmet of the most perfect construc- 
tion. 

He next proceeded to inspect his hack, a steed 
which surpassed, in his eyes, the Bucephalus of Alex- 
ander. Four days were spent in thinking what name 
to give him, because (as he said to himself) it was not 
right that a horse belonging to a knight so famous, 
and one with such merits of his own, should be with- 
out some distinctive name, and he strove to adapt it 
so as to indicate what he had been before belonging 
to a knight-errant, and what he then was ; for it was 
only reasonable that, his master taking a new character, 
the horse should take a new name, and that it should 
be a distinguished and full-sounding one, befitting the 
new order and calling he was about to follow. And 
so, after having composed, struck out, rejected, added 
to, unmade, and remade a multitude of names out of 
his memory and fancy, he decided on calling him 
Rocinante, 1 a name, to his thinking, lofty, sonorous, 
and significant of his condition as a hack before he 
became what he now was, the first and foremost of all 
the hacks in the world. 

Having got a name for his horse so much to his 
taste, he was anxious to get one for himself, and he 
was eight days more pondering over this point, till at 
last he made up his mind to call himself Don Quixote, 
whence, as has been already said, the authors of this 
history have inferred that his name must have been 
beyond a doubt Quixada, and not Quesada, as others 

1 Rocinante : this word in English means " Formerly a work- 
horse." 



Chapter I 5 

would have it. Recollecting, however, that the valiant 
Amadis 1 was not content to call himself curtly Amadis 
and nothing more, but added the name of his kingdom 
and country to make it famous, and called himself 
Amadis of Gaul, he, like a good knight, resolved to 
add on the name of his, and to style himself Don 
Quixote of La Mancha, whereby, he considered, he 
described accurately his origin and country, and did 
honor to it in taking his surname from it. 

So then, his armor being furbished, his morion 
turned into a helmet, his hack christened, and he him- 
self confirmed, he came to the conclusion that nothing 
more was needed now but to look out for a lady to be 
in love with ; for a knight-errant without love was like 
a tree without leaves or fruit, or a body without a 
soul. As he said to himself, " If, for my sins or by 
my good fortune, I come across some giant hereabouts, 
a common occurrence with knights-errant, and over- 
throw him in one onslaught, or cleave him asunder to 
the waist, or, in short, vanquish and subdue him, will 
it not be well to have some one I may send him to as 
a present, that he may come in and fall on his knees 
before my sweet lady, and in a humble, submissive 
voice say, ' I am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the 
island of Malindrania, vanquished in single combat by 
the never sufficiently extolled knight Don Quixote of 
La Mancha, who has commanded me to present myself 
before your Grace, that your Highness dispose of 
me at your pleasure ' ? " 

1 Amadis : one of the notable heroes of the Don's favorite 
romances. 



6 Don Quixote 

Oh, how our good gentleman enjoyed ihe delivery 

of this speech, especially when he had thought of 
some one to call his Lady ! There was, so the story 
goes, in a village near his own a very good-looking 
farm girl with whom he had been at one time in love, 
though, so far as is known, she never knew it nor 
gave a thought to the matter. Her name m Aldonza 
Lorenzo, and on her he thought fit to confer the title 
of Lady of his Thoughts ; and after some search for 
a name which should not be out of harmony with her 
own, and should suggest and indicate that of a prin- 
cess and great lady, he decided on calling her Dul- 
cinea del Toboso — she being of El Toboso — a name, 
to his mind, musical, uncommon, and . like 

all those he had already bestowed on and the 

things belonging to him. 



CHAPTER II - 

WHICH TREATS OF THE FIRST SALLY THE INGENIOUS 
DON QUIXOTE MADE FROM HOME 

THESE preliminaries settled, he did not care to 
put off any longer the execution of his design, 
urged on to it by the thought of all the world 
was losing by his delay, seeing what wrongs he in- 
tended to right, grievances to redress, injustices to re- 
pair, abuses to remove, and duties to discharge. So, 
without giving notice of his intention to any one, and 
without anybody seeing him, one morning before the 
dawning of the day (which was one of the hottest of 
the month of July) he donned his suit of armor, 
mounted Rocinante with his patched-up helmet on, 
braced his buckler, took his lance, and by the back 
door of the yard sallied forth on the plain in the high- 
est contentment and satisfaction at seeing with what 
ease he had made a beginning with his grand purpose. 
But scarcely did he find himself on the open plain, 
when a terrible thought struck him, one all but enough 
to make him abandon the enterprise at the very out- 
set. It occurred to him that he had not been dubbed 
a knight, and that according to the law of chivalry he 
neither could nor ought to bear arms against any 
knight ; and that even if he had been, still he ought, 

7 



8 Don Quixote 

as a novice knight, to wear white armor, without a de- 
vice on the shield until by his prowess he had earned 
one. These reflections made him waver in his pur- 
pose, but his craze being stronger than any reasoning 
he made up his mind to have himself dubbed a knight 
by the first one he came across, following the example 
of others in the same case, as he had read in the 
books that brought him to this pass. As for white 
armor, he resolved, on the first opportunity, to scour 
his until it was whiter than an ermine ; and so com- 
forting himself he pursued his way, taking that which 
his horse chose, for in this he believed lay the essence 
of adventures. 

Thus setting out, our new-fledged adventurer paced 
along, talking to himself and saying, " Who knows but 
that in time to come, when the history of my famous 
deeds is made known, the sage who writes it, when he 
has to set forth my first sally in the early morning, will 
do it after this fashion? ' Scarce had the rubicund 
Apollo spread o'er the face of the broad spacious 
earth the golden threads of his bright hair, scarce 
had the little birds of painted plumage attuned their 
notes to hail with dulcet and mellifluous harmony 
the coming of the rosy Dawn that was appearing 
to mortals at the gates and balconies of the Man- 
chegan horizon, when the renowned knight Don 
Quixote of La Mancha mounted his celebrated steed 
Rocinante and began to traverse the ancient and fa- 
mous Campo de Montiel ; ' " which in fact he was actu- 
ally traversing. " Happy the age, happy the time," 
he continued, " in which shall be made known my 



Chapter II 9 

deeds of fame, worthy to be moulded in brass, carved 
in marble, limned in pictures, for a memorial forever. 
i\nd thou, O sage magician, whoever thou art, to whom 
it shall fall to be the chronicler of this wondrous his- 
tory, forget not, I entreat thee, my good Rocinante, 
the constant companion of my ways and wanderings." 
Presently he broke out again, as if he were love- 
stricken in earnest, " O Princess Dulcinea, lady of this 
captive heart, a grievous wrong hast thou done me to 
drive me forth with scorn, and with inexorable obdu- 
racy banish me from the presence of thy beauty. O 
lady, deign to hold in remembrance this heart, thy 
vassal, that thus in anguish pines for love of thee." 

So he went on stringing together these and other 
absurdities, all in the style of those his books had 
taught him, imitating their language as well as he 
could ; and all the while he rode so slowly and the 
sun mounted so rapidly and with such fervor that it 
was enough to melt his brains if he had any. Nearly 
all day he travelled without anything remarkable hap- 
pening to him, at which he was in despair, for he was 
anxious to encounter some one at once on whom to 
try the might of his strong arm. 

Writers there are who say the first adventure he met 
with was that of Puerto Lapice ; others say it was that 
of the windmills ; but what I have ascertained on this 
point, and what I have found written in the annals of 
La Mancha, is that he was on the road all day, and 
towards nightfall his hack and he found themselves 
dead tired and hungry, when, looking all around to 
see if he could discover any castle or shepherd's 



io Don Quixote 

shanty where he might refresh himself and relieve his 
sore wants, he perceived not far out of his road an 
inn, which was as welcome as a star guiding him to 
the portals, if not the palaces, of his redemption ; and 
quickening his pace he reached it just as night was 
setting in. At the door were standing two young 
women on their way to Seville with some carriers who 
had chanced to halt that night at the inn; and as, 
happen what might to our adventurer, everything he 
saw or imagined seemed to him to be and to happen 
after the fashion of what he had read of, the moment 
he saw the inn he pictured it to himself as a castle 
with its four turrets and pinnacles of shining silver, 
not forgetting the drawbridge and moat and all the 
belongings usually ascribed to castles of the sort. To 
this inn, which to him seemed a castle, he advanced, 
and at a short distance from it he checked Rocinante, 
hoping that some dwarf would show himself on the 
battlements, and by sound of trumpet give notice that 
a knight was approaching the castle. But seeing that 
they were slow about it, and that Rocinante was in a 
hurry to reach the stable, he made for the inn door, 
and perceived the two gay damsels who were standing 
there, and who seemed to him to be two fair maidens 
or lovely ladies taking their ease at the castle gate. 

At this moment it so happened that a swineherd 
who was going through the stubbles collecting a drove 
of pigs gave a blast of his horn to bring them together, 
and forthwith it seemed to Don Quixote to be what 
he was expecting, the signal of some dwarf announc- 
ing his arrival ; and so with prodigious satisfaction he 



Chapter II n 

rode up to the inn and to the ladies, who, seeing a 
man of this sort approaching in full armor and with 
lance and buckler, were turning in dismay into the inn, 
when Don Quixote, guessing their fear by their flight, 
raised his pasteboard visor, disclosed his dry, dusty 
visage, and with courteous bearing and gentle voice 
addressed them, " Your ladyships need not fly or fear 
any rudeness, for that it belongs not to the order of 
knighthood which I profess to offer to any one, much 
less to high-born maidens as your appearance pro- 
claims you to be." 

The girls were looking at him and straining their 
eyes to make out the features which the clumsy visor 
obscured, but when they heard him speak thus, they 
could not restrain their laughter, which made Don 
Quixote wax indignant, and say, " Modesty becomes 
the fair, and moreover laughter that has little cause 
is great silliness ; this, however, I say not to pain or 
anger you, for my desire is none other than to serve 
you." 

The incomprehensible language and the unpromis- 
ing looks of our cavalier only increased the ladies' 
laughter, and that increased nis irritation, and mat- 
ters might have gone farther if at that moment the 
landlord had not come out, who, being a very fat 
man, was a very peaceful one. He, seeing this gro- 
tesque figure clad in armor that did not match any 
more than his saddle, bridle, lance, buckler, or corselet, 
was not at all indisposed to join the damsels in their 
manifestations of amusement ; but, in truth, standing 
in awe of such a complicated armament, he thought 



12 Don Quixote 

it best to speak him fairly, so he said, " Senor Cabal- 
lero, if your worship wants lodging, bating the bed 
(for there is not one in the inn), there is plenty of 
everything else here." Don Quixote, observing the 
respectful bearing of the Alcaide x of the fortress (for 
so innkeeper and inn seemed in his eyes), made 
answer, "Sir Castellan, for me anything will suffice, 

for 

" My armor is my only wear, 
My only rest the fray." 

The host fancied he called him Castellan because he 
took him for a "worthy of Castile," though he was 
in fact an Andalusian, and as crafty as any thief, and 
as full of tricks as a student or a page. " In that 
case," said he, "you may dismount and safely reckon 
on any quantity of sleeplessness under this roof for a 
twelvemonth, not to say for a single night." 

So saying, he advanced to hold the stirrup for Don 
Quixote, who got down with great difficulty and exer- 
tion (for he had not broken his fast all day), and then 
charged the host to take great care of his horse, as he 
was the best bit of flesh that ever ate bread in this 
world. The landlord eyed him over, but did not find 
him as good as Don Quixote said, nor even half as 
good ; and putting him up in the stable, he returned 
to see what might be wanted by his guest, whom the 
damsels, who had by this time made their peace with 
him, were now relieving of his armor. They had taken 
off his breastplate and backpiece, but they neither 

1 Alcaide : a commander of a castle. 



Chapter II 13 

knew nor saw how to open his gorget or remove his 
make-shift helmet, for he had fastened it with green 
ribbons, which, as there was no untying the knots, 
required to be cut. This, however, he would not by 
any means consent to, so he remained all the evening 
with his helmet on, the drollest and oddest figure 
that can be imagined ; and while they were removing 
his armor, taking the baggages who were about it for 
ladies of high degree belonging to the castle, he said 
to them with great sprightliness : — 

" Oh, never, surely, was there knight 

So served by hand of dame, 
As served was he, Don Quixote hight, 

When from his town he came ; 
With maidens waiting on himself, 

Princesses on his hack — 

— or Rocinante, for that, ladies mine, is my horse's 
name, and Don Quixote of La Mancha is my own } 
for though I had no intention of declaring myself 
until my achievements in your service and honor had 
made me known, the necessity of adapting that old 
ballad to the present occasion has given you the 
knowledge of my name altogether prematurely. A 
time, however, will come for your ladyships to com- 
mand and me to obey, and then the might of my arm 
will show my desire to serve you." 

The girls, who were not used to hearing rhetoric of 
this sort, had nothing to say in reply ; they only asked 
him if he wanted anything to eat. " I would gladly 
eat a bit of something," said Don Quixote, " for I 
feel it would come very seasonably." 



14 Don Quixote 

The day happened to be a Friday, and in the whole 
inn there was nothing but some pieces of the fish they 
call "troutlet" ; so they asked him if he thought he 
could eat troutlet, for there was no other fish to give 
him. "If there be troutlets enough," said Don Qui- 
xote, " they will be the same thing as a trout ; for it 
is all one to me whether I am given eight reals in 
small change or a piece of eight ; moreover, it may 
be that these troutlets are like veal, which is better 
than beef, or kid, which is better than goat. But 
whatever it be let it come quickly, for the burden and 
pressure of arms cannot be borne without support to 
the inside." 

They laid a table for him at the door of the inn 
for the sake of the air, and the host brought him 
a portion of ill-soaked and worse cooked stockfish, 
and a piece of bread as black and mouldy as his 
own armor ; but a laughable sight it was to see him 
eating, for having his helmet on and the beaver up, 
he could not with his own hands put anything into his 
mouth unless some one else placed it there, and this 
service one of the ladies rendered him. But to give 
him anything to drink was impossible, or would have 
been had not the landlord bored a reed, and put- 
ting one end in his mouth poured the wine into him 
through the other ; all which he bore with patience 
rather than sever the ribbons of his helmet. 

While this was going on there came up to the inn 
a pig-tender who, as he approached, sounded his reed 
pipe four or five times, and thereby completely con- 
vinced Don Quixote that he was in some famous 



Chapter II 15 

castle, and that they were regaling him with music, 
and that the stockfish was trout, the bread the whitest, 
the wenches ladies, and the landlord the castellan of 
the castle \ and consequently he held that his enter- 
prise and sally had been to some purpose. But still 
it distressed him to think he had not been dubbed 
a knight, for it was plain to him he could not lawfully 
engage in any adventure without receiving the order 
of knighthood. 



CHAPTER III 

WHEREIN IS RELATED THE DROLL WAY IN WHICH DON 
QUIXOTE HAD HIMSELF DUBBED A KNIGHT 

HARASSED by this reflection, he made haste 
with his scanty pothouse supper, and having 
finished it called the landlord, and shutting 
himself into the stable with him, fell on his knees 
before him, saying, " From this spot I rise not, valiant 
knight, until your courtesy grants me the boon I 
seek, one that will redound to your praise and the 
benefit of the human race." 

The landlord, seeing his guest at his feet and hearing 
a speech of this kind, stood staring at him in bewilder- 
ment, not knowing what to do or say, and entreating 
him to rise, but all to no purpose until he had agreed 
to grant the boon demanded of him. " I looked for 
no less, my lord, from your High Magnificence." re- 
plied Don Quixote, " and I have to tell you that the 
boon I have asked and your liberality has granted is 
that you shall dub me knight to-morrow morning, and 
that to-night I shall watch my arms in the chapel of 
this your castle ; thus to-morrow, as I have said, will 
be accomplished what I so much Hesire, enabling me 
lawfully to roam through all the four quarters of the 
world seeking adventures on behalf of those in distress, 

16 



Chapter III 17 

as is the duty of chivalry and of knights-errant like 
myself, whose ambition is directed to such deeds." 

The landlord, who, as has been mentioned, was 
something of a wag, and had already some suspicion 
of his guest's want of wits, was quite convinced of it 
on hearing talk of this kind from him, and to make 
sport for the night he determined to fall in with his 
humor. So he told him he was quite right in pursu- 
ing the object he had in view, and that such a motive 
was natural and becoming in cavaliers as distinguished 
as he seemed and his gallant bearing showed him to 
be; and that he himself in his younger days had fol 
lowed the same honorable calling, roaming in quest of 
adventures in various parts of the world, among others 
the Curing-grounds of Malaga, the Precinct of Seville, 
the Little Market of Segovia, the Taverns of Toledo, 
and divers other quarters, where he had proved the 
nimbleness of his feet and the lightness of his fingers, 
doing many wrongs, cheating many widows, and swin- 
dling minors, and, in short, bringing himself under the N 
notice of almost every tribunal and court of justice in 
Spain ; until at last he had retired to this castle of his, 
where he was living on his property and on that of 
others ; and where he received all knights-errant, of 
whatever rank or condition they might be, all for the 
great love he bore them and that they might share 
their substance with him in return for his benevolence. 
He told him, moreover, that in this castle of his there 
was no chapel in which he could watch his armor, as 
it had been pulled down in order to be rebuilt, but 
that in a case of necessity it might, he knew, be 
c 



1 8 Don Quixote 

watched anywhere, and he might watch it that night 
in a courtyard of the castle, and in the morning, God 
willing, the requisite ceremonies might be performed 
so as to have him dubbed a knight, and so thoroughly 
dubbed that nobody could be more so. He asked if 
he had any money with him, to which Don Quixote 
replied that he had not a farthing, as in the histories 
of knights- errant he had never read of any of them 
carrying any. 

On this point the landlord told him he was 
mistaken ; for, though not recorded in the histo- 
ries, because in the author's opinion there was no need 
to mention anything so obvious and necessary as 
money and clean shirts, it was not to be supposed 
therefore that they did not carry them, and he might 
regard it as certain and established that all knights- 
errant (about whom there were so many full and un- 
impeachable books) carried well- furnished purses in 
case of emergency, and likewise carried shirts and a 
little box of ointment to cure the wounds they re- 
ceived. For in those plains and deserts where they 
engaged in combat and came out wounded, it was not 
always that there was some one to cure them, unless 
indeed they had for a friend some sage magician to 
succor them at once by fetching through the air on 
a cloud some damsel or dwarf with a vial of water of 
such virtue that by tasting one drop of it they were 
cured of their hurts and wounds in an instant and left 
as sound as if they had not received any damage 
whatever. But in case this should not occur, the 
knights of old took care to see that their squires were 



Chapter III 19 

provided with money and other requisites, such as 
lint and ointments for healing purposes ; and when it 
happened that knights had no squires (which was 
rarely and seldom the case) they themselves carried 
everything in cunning saddle-bags. He therefore ad- 
vised him (and, as his godson so soon to be, he might 
even command him) never from that time forth to 
travel without money and the usual requirements, and 
he would find the advantage of them when he least 
expected it. 

Don Quixote promised to follow his advice scrupu- 
lously, and it was arranged forthwith that he should 
watch his armor in a large yard at one side of the 
inn ; so, collecting it all together, Don Quixote placed 
it on a trough that stood by the side of a well, and 
bracing his buckler on his arm he grasped his lance 
and began with a stately air to march up and down 
in front of the trough, and as he began his march 
night began to fall. 

The landlord told all the people who were in the 
inn about the craze of his guest, the watching of the 
armoi, and the dubbing ceremony he contemplated. 
Full of wonder at so strange a form of madness, they 
flocked to see it from a distance, and observed with 
what composure he sometimes paced up and down, 
or sometimes, leaning on his lance, gazed on his 
armor without taking his eyes off it for ever so long ; 
and as the night closed in with a full moon everything 
the novice knight did was plainly seen by all. 

Meanwhile one of the carriers who were in the inn 
thought fit to water his team, and it was necessary to 



20 Don Quixote 

remove Don Quixote's armor as it lay on the trough • 
but he seeing the other approach hailed him in a loud 
voice, " O thou, whoever thou art, rash knight that 
comest to lay hands on the armor of the most valor- 
ous errant that ever girt on sword, have a care what 
thou dost ; touch it not unless thou wouldst lay down 
thy life as the penalty of thy rashness." 

The carrier gave no heed to these words (and he 
would have done better to heed them if he had been 
heedful of his health), but seizing it by the straps flung 
the armor some distance from him. Seeing this, Don 
Quixote raised his eyes to heaven, and fixing his 
thoughts on his lady Dulcinea, exclaimed, " Aid 
me, lady mine, in this the first encounter that pre- 
sents itself to this breast which thou holdest in sub- 
jection • let not thy favor and protection fail me in 
this first jeopardy ; " and with these words and others 
to the same purpose, dropping his buckler he lifted 
his lance with both hands and with it smote such 
a blow on the carrier's head that he stretched him 
on the ground so stunned that had he followed it up 
with a second there would have been no need of a 
surgeon to cure him. This done, he picked up his 
armor and returned to his beat with the same serenity 
as before. 

At the noise all the people of the inn ran to the 
spot, and among them the landlord. Seeing this, 
Don Quixote braced his buckler on his arm, and 
with his hand on his sword exclaimed, " O Lady of 
Beauty, strength and support of my faint heart, it is 
time for thee to turn the eyes of thy greatness on 






Chapter III 21 

this thy captive knight on the brink of so mighty an 
adventure." 

By this he felt himself so inspirited that he would not 
have flinched if all the carriers in the world had assailed 
him. The comrades of the wounded, perceiving the 
plight they were in, began from a distance to shower 
stones on Don Quixote, who screened himself as 
best he could with his buckler, not daring to quit the 
trough and leave his armor unprotected. The land- 
lord shouted to them to leave him alone, for he had 
already told them that he was mad, and as a mad- 
man he would not be accountable even if he killed 
them all. Still louder shouted Don Quixote, calling 
them knaves and traitors, and the lord of the castle, 
who allowed knights-errant to be treated in this fashion, 
a villain and a low-born knight whom, had he received 
the order of knighthood, he would call to account for 
his treachery. " But of you," he cried, " base and 
vile rabble, I make no account ; fling, strike, come on, 
do all ye can against me, ye shall see what the reward 
of your folly and insolence will be." 

This he uttered with so much spirit and boldness 
that he filled his assailants with a terrible fear, and 
as much for this reason as at the persuasion of the 
landlord they left off stoning him, and he allowed 
them to carry off the wounded carrier, and with the 
same calmness and composure as before resumed the 
watch over his armor. 

But these freaks of his guest were not much to the 
liking of the landlord, so he determined to cut mat- 
ters short and confer on him at once the unlucky 



22 Don Quixote 

order of knighthood before any further misadventure 
could occur ; so, going up to him, he apologized for 
the rudeness which, without his knowledge, had been 
offered to him by these low people, who, however, 
had been well punished for their audacity. As he had 
already told him, he said, there was no chapel in the 
castle, nor was it needed for what remained to be 
done, for, as he understood the ceremonial of the 
order, the whole point of being dubbed a knight lay 
in the accolade and in the slap on the shoulder, and 
that could be administered in the middle of a field ; 
and that he had now done all that was needful as to 
watching the armor, for all requirements were satisfied 
by a watch of two hours only, while he had been more 
than four about it. Don Quixote believed it all, and 
told him he stood there ready to obey him, and to 
make an end of it with as much despatch as possible ; 
for if he were again attacked, and felt himself to be a 
dubbed knight, he would not, he thought, leave a soul 
alive in the castle, except such as out of respect he 
might spare at his bidding. 

Thus warned and menaced, the castellan forthwith 
brought out a book in which he used to enter the 
straw and barley he served out to the carriers, and, 
with a lad carrying a candle-end, and the two damsels 
already mentioned, he returned to where Don Quixote 
stood, and bade him kneel down. Then, reading from 
his account-book as if he were repeating some devout 
prayer, in the middle of his delivery he raised his 
hand and gave him a sturdy blow on the neck, and 
then, with his own sword, a smart slap on the shoul- 



Chapter III 23 

der, all the while muttering between his teeth as if he 
was saying his prayers. Having done this, he directed 
one of the ladies to gird on his sword, which she did 
with great self-possession and gravity, and not a little 
was required to prevent a burst of laughter at each 
stage of the ceremony; but what they had already 
seen of the novice knight's prowess kept their laughter 
within bounds. On girding him with the sword the 
worthy lady said to him, " May God make your wor- 
ship a very fortunate knight, and grant you success in 
battle." 

Don Quixote asked her name in order that he 
might from that time forward know to whom he 
was beholden for the favor he had received, as he 
meant to confer on her some portion of the honor 
he acquired by the might of his arm. She answered 
with great humility that she was called La Tolosa, and 
that she was the daughter of a cobbler of Toledo, and 
that wherever she might be she would serve and esteem 
him as her lord. Don Quixote said in reply that she 
would do him a favor if thenceforward she called 
herself Dona Tolosa. She promised she would, and 
then the other buckled on his spur, and with her 
followed almost the same conversation as with the 
lady of the sword. 

Having thus, with hot haste and speed, brought to 
a conclusion these never-till-now-seen ceremonies, Don 
Quixote was on thorns until he saw himself on horse- 
back sallying forth in quest of adventures ; and sad- 
dling Rocinante at once he mounted, and embracing 
his host, as he returned thanks for his kindness in 



24 Don Quixote 

knighting him, he addressed him in language so ex- 
traordinary that it is impossible to convey an idea of 
it or report it. The landlord, to get him out of the 
inn, replied with no less rhetoric though with shorter 
words, and without calling on him to pay the reckon- 
ing let him go with a Godspeed. 



CHAPTER IV 

OF WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR KNIGHT WHEN HE LEFT 
THE INN 

DAY was dawning when Don Quixote quitted 
the inn, so happy, so gay, so exhilarated at 
finding himself dubbed a knight, that his joy 
was like to burst his horse-girths. However, recalling 
the advice of his host as to the requisites he ought to 
carry with him, especially that referring to money and . 
shirts, he determined to go home and provide himself 
with all, and also with a squire, for he reckoned on 
securing a farm-laborer, a neighbor of his, a poor man 
with a family, but very well qualified for the office of 
squire to a knight. With this object he turned his 
horse's head towards his village, and Rocinante, thus 
reminded of his, old quarters, stepped out so briskly 
that he hardly seemed to tread the earth. 

He had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his 
right there seemed to come feeble cries as of some 
one in distress, and the instant he heard them he 
exclaimed, " Thanks be to heaven for the favor it 
accords me, that it so soon offers me an opportunity 
of fulfilling the obligation I have undertaken, and 
gathering the fruit of my ambition. These cries, no 
doubt, come from some man or woman in want of 
help, and needing mv aid and protection ; " and wheel- 

25 



26 Don Quixote 

ing,.he turned Rocinante in the direction whence the 
cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few 
paces into the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an 
oak, and tied to another, and stripped from the waist 
upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, from 
whom the cries came. Nor were they without cause, 
for a lusty farmer was flogging him with a belt and 
following up every blow with scoldings and com- 
mands, repeating, "Your mouth shut and your eyes 
open ! " while the youth made answer, " I won't do 
it again, master mine ; I won't do it again, and I'll 
take more care of the flock another time." 

Seeing what was going on, Don Quixote said in an 
angry voice, " Discourteous knight, it ill becomes you 
to assail one who caniiot defend himself; mount your 
steed and take your lance " (for there was a lance 
leaning against the oak to which the mare was tied), 
" and I will make you know that you are behaving as 
a coward." 

The farmer, seeing before him this figure in full 
armor brandishing a lance over his head, gave 
himself up for dead, and made answer meekly, " Sir 
Knight, this youth that I am chastising is my servant, 
employed by me to watch a flock of sheep that 1 
have hard by, and he is so careless that I lose one 
every day, and when I punish him for his carelessness 
and knavery he says I do it out of niggardliness, to 
escape paying him the wages I owe him, and before 
God, and on my soul, he lies." 

" Lies before me, base clown ! " said Don Quixote. 
" By the sun that shines on us I have a mind to run 



Chapter IV 27 

you through with this lance. Pay him at once with- 
out another word : if not, by the God that rules us I 
will make an end of you, and annihilate you on the 
spot; release him instantly." 

The farmer hung his head, and without a word un- 
tied his servant, of whom Don Quixote asked how 
much his master owed him. 

He replied, nine months at seven reals a month. 
Don Quixote added it up, found that it came to sixty- 
three reals, and told the farmer to pay it down imme- 
diately, if he did not want to die for it. 

The trembling clown replied that as he lived it 
was not so much ; for there were to be taken into 
account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had 
given him, and a real for two blood-lettings when he 
was sick. 

"All that is very well," said Don Quixote; "but 
let the shoes and the blood-lettings stand as a set-off 
against the blows you have given him without any 
cause ; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you 
paid for, you have damaged that of his body, and if 
the barber took blood from him when he was sick, 
you have drawn it when he was sound ; so on that 
score he owes you nothing." 

" The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money 
here ; let Andres come home with me, and I will pay 
him all, real by real." 

"L go with him!" said the youth. "Nay, God 
forbid ! no, senor, not for the world ; for once alone 
with me, he would flay me like a Saint Bartholomew." 

"He will do nothing of the kind," said Don Qui- 



28 Don Quixote 

xote ; " I have only to command, and he will obey 

me ; and as he has sworn to me by the order of 

knighthood which he has received, I leave him free, 

and I guarantee the payment." 

" Consider what you are saying, senor," said the 

youth ; " this master of mine is not a knight, nor has 

he received any order of knighthood ; for he is Juan 

Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar." 

" That matters little," replied Don Quixote ; " there 

may be Haldudo knights ; moreover, every one is the 

son of his works." 

" That is true," said Andres; " but this master of 

mine — of what works is he the son, when he refuses 

me the wages of my sweat and labor? " 

" I do not refuse, brother Andres," said the farmer ; 

" be good enough to come along with me, and I swear 
by all the orders of knighthood there are in the world 
to pay you as I have agreed, real by real." 

" See that you do as you have sworn," said Don 
Quixote ; " if not, by the same oath I swear to come 
back and hunt you out and punish you ; and I shall 
find you though you should lie closer than a lizard. 
And if you desire to know who it is lays this command 
on you, that you may be more firmly bound to obey 
it, know that I am the valorous Don Quixote of La 
Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and injustices ; and so, 
God be with you, and keep in mind what you have 
promised and sworn under those penalties that have 
been already declared to you." 

So saying, he gave Rocinante the spur and was 
soon out of reach. The farmer followed him with his 



Chapter IV 29 

eyes, and when he saw that he had cleared the wood 
and was no longer in sight, he turned to his boy 
Andres, and said, " Come here, my son, I want to 
pay you what I owe you, as that undoer of wrongs has 
commanded me." 

"My oath on it," said Andres, " your worship will 
be well advised to obey the command of that good 
knight — may he live a thousand years — for, as he is 
a valiant and just judge, if you do not pay me, he will 
come back and do as he said." 

" My oath on it, too," said the farmer; "but as I 
have a strong affection for you, I want to add to the 
debt in order to add to the payment ; " and seizing 
him by the arm, he tied him up to the oak again, 
where he gave him another flogging. 

"Now, Master Andres," said the farmer, "call on 
the undoer of wrongs \ you will find he won't undo 
that, though I am not sure that I have quite done with 
you, for I have a good mind to flay you alive as you 
feared." But at last he untied him, and gave him 
leave to go look for his judge in order to put the sen- 
tence pronounced into execution. 

Andres went off rather down in the mouth, swearing 
he would go to look for the valiant Don Quixote of 
La Mancha and tell him exactly what had happened, 
and that all would have to be repaid him sevenfold; 
but for all that, he went off weeping, while his master 
stood laughing. 

Thus did the valiant Don Quixote right that wrong, 
and, thoroughly satisfied with what had taken place, 
as he considered he had made a very happy and 



30 Don Ouixote 

noble beginning with his knighthood, he took the 
road towards his village in perfect self-content, saying 
in a low voice, " Well mayest thou this day call thy- 
self fortunate above all on earth, O Dulcinea del 
Toboso, fairest of the fair ! since it has fallen to thy 
lot to hold subject and submissive to thy full will 
and pleasure a knight so renowned as is and will be 
Don Quixote of La Mancha, who, as all the world 
knows, yesterday received the order of knighthood, and 
hath to-day righted the greatest wrong and grievance 
that ever injustice conceived and cruelty perpetrated : 
who hath to-day plucked the rod from the hand of 
yonder ruthless oppressor so wantonly lashing that 
tender child." 

He now came to a road branching in four direc- 
tions, and immediately he was reminded of those 
cross-roads where knights-errant used to stop to con- 
sider which road they should take. In imitation of 
them he halted for a while, and after having deeply 
considered it, he gave Rocinante his head, submitting 
his own will to that of his hack, who followed out his 
first intention, which was to make straight for his own 
stable. After he had gone about two miles Don 
Quixote perceived a large party of people, who, as 
afterwards appeared, were some Toledo traders, on 
their way to buy silk at Murcia. There were six 
of them coming along under their sunshades, with 
four servants mounted, and three muleteers on foot. 
Scarcely had Don Quixote descried them when the 
fancy possessed him that this must be some new 
adventure \ and to help him to imitate as far as he 



Chapter IV 31 

could those passages at arms he had read of in his 
books, here seemed to come one made on purpose, 
which he resolved to attempt. So with a lofty bear- 
ing and determination he fixed himself firmly in his 
stirrups, got his lance ready, brought his buckler be- 
fore his breast, and planting himself in the middle of 
the road, stood waiting the approach of these knights- 
errant, for such he now considered and held them to 
be ; and when they had come near enough to see and 
hear, he exclaimed with a haughty gesture, "All the 
world stand, unless all the world confess that in all 
the world there is no maiden fairer than the Em- 
press of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del 
Toboso." 

The trader's halted at the sound of this language 
and the sight of the strange figure that uttered it, and 
from both figure and language at once guessed the 
craze of their owner ; they wished, however, to learn 
quietly what was the object of this confession that 
was demanded of them, and one of them, who was 
rather fond of a joke and was very sharp-witted, said 
to him, " Sir Knight, we do not know who this good 
lady is that you speak of ; show her to us, for, if she 
be of such beauty as you suggest, with all our hearts 
and without any pressure we will confess the truth 
that is on your part required of us." 

"If I were to show her to you," replied Don Qui- 
xote, "what merit would you have in confessing a 
truth so manifest? The essential point is that with- 
out seeing her you must believe, confess, affirm, swear, 
and defend it ; else ye have to do with me in battle, 



32 Don Quixote 

ill-conditioned, arrogant rabble that ye are ; and come 
ye on, one by one as the order of knighthood requires, 
or all together as is the custom and vile usage of 
your breed, here do I abide and await you, relying 
on the justice of the cause I maintain." 

"Sir Knight," replied the trader, "I entreat your 
worship in the name of this present company of 
princes, that, to save us from charging our consciences 
with the confession of a thing we have never seen or 
heard of, your worship will be pleased to show us 
some portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger 
than a grain of wheat ; for in this way we shall be 
satisfied and easy, and you will be content and 
pleased ; nay, I believe we are already so far agreed 
with you that even though her portrait should show 
her blind of one eye, and distilling vermilion and 
sulphur from the other, we would nevertheless, to 
gratify your worship, say all in her favor that you 
desire." 

" She distils nothing of the kind, vile rabble," said 
Don Quixote, burning with rage, "nothing of the 
kind, I say, nor is she one-eyed or humpbacked, but 
straighter than a spindle: but ye must pay for the 
blasphemy ye have uttered against beauty like that 
of my lady." 

And so saying he charged with levelled lance 
against the one who had spoken, with such fury and 
fierceness that, if luck had not contrived that Roci- 
nante should stumble midway and come down, it 
would have gone hard with the rash trader. Down 
went Rocinante, and over went his master, rolling 



Chapter IV 33 

along the ground for some distance ; and when he 
tried to rise he was unable, so encumbered was he 
with lance, buckler, spurs, helmet, and the weight 
of his old armor ; and all the while he was struggling 
to get up, he kept saying, " Fly not, cowards and 
caitiffs ! stay, for not by my fault, but my horse's, am 
I stretched here." 

One of the muleteers in attendance, who could not 
have had much good nature in him, hearing the poor 
prostrate man blustering in this style, was unable to 
refrain from giving him an answer on his ribs ; and 
coming up to him he seized his lance, and having 
broken it in pieces, with one of them he began so to 
belabor our Don Quixote that, notwithstanding and 
in spite of his armor, he milled him like a measure of 
wheat. His masters called out not to lay on so hard 
and to leave him alone, but the muleteer's blood was 
up, and he did not care to drop the game until he 
had vented the rest of his wrath, and gathering up the 
remaining fragments of the lance he finished with a 
discharge on the unhappy victim, who all through 
the storm of sticks that rained on him never ceased 
threatening heaven, and earth, and the brigands, for 
such they seemed to him. At last the muleteer was 
tired, and the traders continued their journey, taking 
with them matter for talk about the poor fellow who 
had been cudgelled. He when he found himself 
alone made another effort to rise ; but if he was 
unable when whole and sound, how was he to rise 
after having been thrashed and well-nigh knocked to 
pieces? And yet he esteemed himself fortunate, as 

D 



34 Don Quixote 

it seemed to him that this was a regular knight- 
errant's mishap, and entirely, he considered, the fault 
of his horse. However, battered in body as he was, 
to rise was beyond his power. 

Finding, then, that in fact he could not move, he 
bethought himself of having recourse to his usual 
remedy, which was to think of some passage in his 
books, and his craze brought to his mind that about 
Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto 
left him wounded on the mountain side, a story known 
by heart by the children, not forgotten by the young 
men, and lauded and even believed by the old folk ; 
and for all that not a whit truer than the miracles of 
Mahomet. This seemed to him to fit exactly the case 
in which he found himself, so, making a show of severe 
suffering, he began to roll on the ground and with 
feeble breath repeat the very words which the wounded 
knight of the wood is said to have uttered : — 

Where art thou, lady mine, that thou 

My sorrow dost not rue? 
Thou canst not know it, lady mine, 

Or else thou art untrue. 

And so he went on with the ballad as far as the 

lines : — 

O noble Marquis of Mantua, 
My uncle and liege lord ! 

As chance would have it, when he had got to this 
line there happened to come by a peasant from his 
own village, a neighbor of his, who had been with a 
load of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man 



Chapter IV 35 

stretched there, came up to him and asked him who 
he was and what was the matter with him that he 
complained so dolefully. 

Don Quixote was firmly persuaded that this was the 
Marquis of Mantua, his uncle, so the only answer he 
made was to go on with his ballad, in which he told 
the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the 
Emperor's son and his wife, all exactly as the ballad 
sings it. 

The peasant stood amazed at hearing such non- 
sense, and relieving him of the visor, already battered 
to pieces by blows, he wiped his face, which was cov- 
ered with dust, and as soon as he had done so he 
recognized him and said, " Senor Don Quixada " (for 
so he appears to have been called when he was in his 
senses and had not yet changed from a quiet country 
gentleman into a knight-errant), "who has brought 
your worship to this pass? " But to all questions the 
other only went on with his ballad. 

Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he 
could his breastplate and backpiece to see if he had 
any wound, but he could perceive no blood nor any 
mark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from 
the ground, and with no little difficulty hoisted him 
on his ass, which seemed to him to be the easiest 
mount for him, and collecting the arms, even to the 
splinters of the lance, he tied them on Rocinante, and 
leading him by the bridle and the ass by the halter he 
took the road for the village, very sad to hear what 
absurd stuff Don Quixote was talking. Nor was Don 
Quixote less so, for what with blows and bruises he 



36 Don Quixote 

could not sit upright on the ass, and from time to 
time he sent up sighs to heaven, so that once more 
he drove the peasant to ask what ailed him. And it 
could have been only the devil himself that put into 
his head tales to match his own adventures, for now, 
forgetting Baldwin, he bethought himself of the Moor 
Abindarraez, when Rodrigo de Narvaez took him 
prisoner and carried him away to his castle ; so that 
when the peasant again asked him how he was and 
what ailed him, he gave him for reply the same words 
and phrases that the captive gave to Rodrigo. just as 
he had read the story, applying it to his own case so 
aptly that the peasant went along cursing his fate that 
he had to listen to such a lot ol nonsense ; from 
which, however, he came to the conclusion that his 
neighbor was mad, and so made all haste to reach the 
village to escape the wearisomeness of this harangue 
of Don Quixote's ; who, at the end of it, said. " Senor 
Don Rodrigo, your worship must know that this fair 
Xarifa I have mentioned is now the lovely Dulcinea 
del Toboso, for whom I have done, am doing, and 
will do the most famous deeds of chivalry that in this 
world have been seen, are to be seen, or ever shall be 
seen." 

To this the peasant answered, " Senor — sinner that 
I am : — 'Cannot your worship see that I am not Don 
Rodrigo nor the Marquis of Mantua, but Pedro Alonso 
your neighbor, and that your worship is neither Bald- 
win nor Abindarraez, but the worthy gentleman Senor 
Quixada ?~" 

" I know who I am," replied Don Quixote, " and I 



Chapter IV 37 

know that I may be not only those I have named, but 
all the Twelve Peers of France and even all the Nine 
Worthies, since my achievements surpass all that they 
have done all together and each of them on his own 
account." 

With this talk and more of the same kind they 
reached the village just as night was beginning to fall, 
but the peasant waited until it was a little later that the 
belabored gentleman might not be seen riding in such 
a miserable trim. When it was what seemed to him 
the proper time he entered the village and went to 
Don Quixote's house, which he found all in confusion, 
and there were the curate and the village barber, who 
were great friends of Don Quixote, and his house- 
keeper was saying to them in a loud voice, " What 
does your worship think can have befallen my master, 
sefior licentiate Pero Perez ?" for so the curate was 
called ; " it is two days now since anything has been 
seen of him, or the hack, or the buckler, lance, or 
armor. Miserable me ! I am certain of it, and it is 
as true as that I was born to die, that these accursed 
books of chivalry he has got into the way of reading 
so constantly, have upset his reason • for now I re- 
member having often heard him saying to himself 
that he would turn knight-errant and go all over the 
world in quest of adventures. To destruction and Ba- 
rabbas with such books, that have brought to ruin in 
this way the finest understanding there was in all La 
Mancha ! " 

The niece said the same, and, indeed, more : "You 
must know, Master Nicholas " — for that was the name 



38 Don Quixote 

of the barber — "it was often my uncle's way to stay 
days and nights together poring over these unholy 
books of misventures, after which he would fling the 
book away and snatch up his sword and fall to slash- 
ing the walls ; and when he was tired out he would 
say he had killed four giants like four towers ; and the 
sweat that flowed from him when he was weary he said 
was the blood of the wounds he had received in battle ; 
and then he would drink a great jug of cold water and 
become calm and quiet, saying that this water was a 
most precious potion which the sage Esquife, a great 
magician and friend of his, had brought him. But I 
take all the blame on myself for never having told 
your worships of my uncle's vagaries, that you might 
put a stop to them before things had come to this 
pass, and burn all these accursed books — for he has a 
great number — that richly deserve to be burned like 
heretics." 

"So say I too," said the curate, "and by my faith 
to-morrow shall not pass without public judgment 
on them, and may they be condemned to the flames 
lest they lead those that read them to behave as my 
good friend seems to have behaved." 

All this the peasant heard, and from it he under- 
stood at last what was the matter with his neighbor, 
so he began calling aloud, " Open, your worships, to 
Senor Baldwin and to Senor the Marquis of Mantua, 
who comes badly wounded, and to Senor Abindarraez, 
the Moor, whom the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, 
brings captive." 



Chapter IV 39 

At these words they all hurried out, and when they 
recognized their friend, master, and uncle, who had 
not yet dismounted from the ass because he could 
not, they ran to embrace him. 

"Hold !" said he, "for I am badly wounded 
through my horse's fault ; carry me to bed, and if 
possible send for the wise Urganda to cure and see 
to my wounds." 

"See there ! plague on it !" cried the housekeeper 
at this ; " did not my heart tell the truth as to which 
foot my master went lame of ? To bed with your 
worship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here 
without fetching that Hurgada. A curse I say once 
more, and a hundred times more, on those books of 
chivalry that have brought your worship to such a 
pass." 

They carried him to bed at once, and after search- 
ing for his wounds could find none, but he said they 
were all bruises from having had a severe fall with his 
horse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, the 
biggest and the boldest to be found on earth. 

" So, so ! " said the curate, " are there giants in the 
dance ? By the sign of the cross I will burn them 
to-morrow before the day is over." 

They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but 
his only answer to all was — give him something to 
eat, and leave him to sleep, for that was what he 
needed most. They did so, and the curate ques- 
tioned the peasant at great length as to how he had 
found Don Quixote. He told him all, and the non- 



4-0 Don Quixote 

sense he had talked when found and on the way 
home, all which made the licentiate the more eager 
to do what he did the next day, which was to summon 
his friend the barber, Master Nicholas, and go with 
him to Don Quixote's house. 



CHAPTER V 

OF THE DIVERTING AND IMPORTANT SCRUTINY WHICH 
THE CURATE AND THE BARBER MADE IN THE 
LIBRARY OF OUR INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN 

HE was still sleeping ; so the curate asked the 
niece for the keys of the room where the books, 
the authors of all the mischief, were, and right 
willingly she gave them. They all went in, the house- 
keeper with them, and found more than a hundred 
volumes of big books very well bound, and some other 
small ones. The moment the housekeeper saw them 
she turned about and ran out of the room, and came 
back immediately with a saucer of holy water and a 
sprinkler, saying, " Here, your worship, senor licen- 
tiate, sprinkle this room ; don't leave any magician of 
the many there are in these books to bewitch us in 
revenge for our design of banishing them from the 
world." 

The simplicity of the housekeeper made the licen- 
tiate laugh, and he directed the barber to give him 
the books one by one to see what they were about, 
as there might be some to be found among them that 
did not deserve the penalty of fire. 

" No," said the niece, " there is no reason for show- 
ing mercy to any of them; they have every one of 

4i 



42 Don Quixote 

them done mischief; better fling them out of the 
window into the court and make a pile of them and 
set fire to them." The housekeeper said the same, 
so eager were they both for the slaughter of those 
innocents, but the curate would not agree to it with- 
out first reading at any rate the titles. 

The first that Master Nicholas put into his hand 
was the four books of "Amadis of Gaul." "This 
seems a mysterious thing," said the curate, " for, as I 
have heard said, this was the first book of chivalry 
printed in Spain, and from this all the others derive 
their birth and origin ; so it seems to me that we 
ought inexorably to condemn it to the flames as the 
founder of so vile a sect." 

" Nay, sir," said the barber, " I, too, have heard 
say that this is the best of all the books of this kind 
that have been written, and so, as something singular 
in its line, it ought to be pardoned." 

"True," said the curate; "and for that reason let 
its life be spared for the present. Let us see that 
other which is next to it." 

" It is," said the barber, " the ' Sergas de Esplan- 
dian.' " 

"Take it, mistress housekeeper," said the curate; 
" open the window and fling it into the yard and lay 
the foundation of the pile for the bonfire we are to 
make." 

The housekeeper obeyed with great satisfaction, and 
the worthy " Esplandian " went flying into the yard 
to await with all patience the fire that was in store for 
him. 



Chapter V 43 

"Proceed," said the curate. 

"This that comes next," said the barber, "is ■ Don 
Olivante de Laura. ' " 

"The author of that book," said the curate, "was 
the same that wrote 'The Garden of Flowers,' and 
truly there is no deciding which of the two books is 
the more truthful, or, to put it better, the less lying ; 
all I can say is, send this one into the yard for a 
swaggering fool." 

"This that follows is ' Florismarte of Hircania,' " 
said the barber. 

" Senor Florismarte here? " said the curate ; " then 
by my faith he must take up his quarters in the yard, 
in spite of his marvellous birth and visionary adven- 
tures, for the stiffness and dryness of his style deserve 
nothing else ; into the yard with him and the other, 
mistress housekeeper." 

"With all my heart, senor," said she, and executed 
the order with great delight. 

"This," said the barber, "is 'The Knight Platir.' " 

"An old book that," said the curate, "but I find 
no reason for clemency in it ; send it after the others 
without appeal ; " which was done. 

Taking down another book, the barber said, " This is 
' Palmerin de Oliva,' " and beside it was another called 
" Palmerin of England," seeing which the licentiate 
said : " Let the Olive be made firewood of at once and 
burned until no ashes even are left ; and let that Palm 
of England be kept and preserved as a thing that 
stands alone. All the adventures at the Castle of 
Miraguarda are excellent and of admirable contriv- 



44 Don Quixote 

ance,~and the language is polished and clear, studying 
and observing the style befitting the speaker with pro- 
priety and judgment. So then, provided it seems good 
to you, Master Nicholas, I say let this and ' Amadis of 
Gaul' be remitted the penalty of fire, and as for all the 
rest, let them perish without further question or query." 

"With all my heart," said the barber: and not 
caring to tire himself with reading more books of 
chivalry, he told the housekeeper to take all the big 
ones and throw them into the yard. It was not said 
to one dull or deaf, but to one who enjoyed burning 
them more than weaving the broadest and finest web 
that could be ; and seizing about eight at a time, she 
flung them out of the window. 

" But what are we to do with these little books that 
are left?" said the barber. 

"These must be, not chivalry, but poetry," said the 
curate; "these," he said, "do not deserve to be 
burned like the others, for they neither do nor can do 
the mischief the books of chivalry have done, being 
books of entertainment that can hurt no one." 

"Ah, senor ! " said the niece, "your worship had 
better order these to be burned as well as the others ; 
for it would be no wonder if, after being cured of his 
chivalry disorder, my uncle, by reading these, took a 
fancy to turn shepherd and range the woods and fields 
singing and piping ; or, what would be still worse, to 
turn poet, which they say is an incurable and infectious 
malady." 

"The damsel is right," said the curate, "and it will 
be well to put this stumbling-block and temptation 



Chapter V 45 

out of our friend's way. To begin, then, here is the 
ten books of the ' Fortune of Love/ written by An- 
tonio de Lofraso." 

"By the orders I have received/' said the curate, 
" since Apollo has been Apollo, and the Muses have 
been Muses, and poets have been poets, so droll and 
absurd a book as this has never been written, and in 
its way it is the best and the most singular of all of 
this species that have as yet appeared, and he who 
has not read it may be sure he has never read what 
is delightful. Give it here, gossip." 

He put it aside with extreme satisfaction, and the 
barber went on, "These that come next are 'The 
Shepherd of Iberia,' 'The Nymphs of Henares,' and 
'The Enlightenment of Jealousy.' " 

"Then all we have to do," said the curate, "is to 
hand them over to the housekeeper, and ask me not 
why, or we shall never have done." 

"This next is the ' Pastor de Filida.' " 

" No Pastor that," said the curate, " but a highly 
polished courtier ; let it be preserved as a precious 
jewel." 

The curate was tired and would not look into any 
more books, and so he decided that, " contents uncer- 
tified," all the rest should be burned; but just then 
the barber held open one, called "The Tears of 
Angelica." 

"J should have shed tears myself," said the curate 
when he heard the title, " had I ordered that book to 
be burned, for its author was one of the famous poets 
of the world, not to say of Spain." 



CHAPTER VI 

OF THE SECOND SALLY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON 
QUIXOTE OF- LA MANCHA 

AT this instant Don Quixote began shouting out, 
" Here, here, valiant knights ! here is need for 
you to put forth the might of your strong arms, 
for they of the Court are gaining the mastery in the 
tourney ! " Called away by this noise and outcry, 
they proceeded no farther with the scrutiny of the 
remaining books. 

When they reached Don Quixote he was already 
out of bed, and was still shouting and raving, and 
slashing and cutting all round, as wide awake as if he 
had never slept. 

They closed with him and by force got him back to 
bed, and when he had become a little calm, address- 
ing the curate, he said to him, " Of a truth, it is a 
great disgrace for us who call ourselves the Twelve 
Peers, so carelessly to allow the knights of the Court 
to gain the victory in this tourney, we the adventurers 
having carried off the honor on the three former 
days." 

" Hush, gossip," said the curate ; " please God, the 
luck may turn, and what is lost to-day may be won 
to-morrow ; for the present let your worship have a 

46 



Chapter VI 47 

care of your health, for it seems to me that you are 
over-fatigued, if not badly wounded." 

"Wounded no," said Don Quixote, " but bruised 
and battered no doubt, for Don Roland has cudgelled 
me with the trunk of an oak tree, and all for envy, be- 
cause he sees that I alone rival him in his achieve- 
ments. But I should not call myself Reinaldos of 
Montalvan did he not pay me for it in spite of all his 
enchantments as soon as I rise from this bed. For 
the present let them bring me something to eat, for 
that, I feel, is what will be more to my purpose, and 
leave it to me to avenge myself." 

They did as he wished ; they gave him something 
to eat, and once more he fell asleep, leaving them 
marvelling at his madness. 

That night the housekeeper burned to ashes all the 
books that were in the yard ; and some must have 
been consumed that deserved preservation in ever- 
lasting archives, but their fate and the laziness of the 
examiner did not permit it. 

One of the remedies which the curate and the bar- 
ber immediately applied to their friend's disorder was 
to wall up and plaster the room where the books were, 
so that when he got up he should not find them (pos- 
sibly the cause being removed, the effect might cease), 
and they might say that a magician had carried them 
off room and all ; and this was done with all despatch. 
Two days later Don Quixote got up, and the first thing 
he did was to go and look at his books, and not find- 
ing the room where he had left it, he wandered from 
side to side looking for it. He came to the place 



48 Don Quixote 

where the door used to be, and tried it with his hands, 
and turned and twisted his eyes in every direction 
without saying a word ; but after a good while he 
asked his housekeeper whereabouts was the room that 
held his books. 

The housekeeper, who had been already well in- 
structed in what she was to answer, said, " What room 
or what nothing is it that your worship is looking for? 
There are neither room nor books in this house now, 
for the devil himself has carried all away." 

" It was not the devil," said the niece, " but a magi- 
cian who came on a cloud one night after the day your 
worship left this, and dismounting from a serpent that 
he rode he entered the room, and what he did there 
I know not, but after a little while he made off, flying 
through the roof, and left the house full of smoke ; and 
when we went to see what he had done we saw neither 
book nor room : but we remember very well, the 
housekeeper and I, that on leaving, the old villain said 
in a loud voice that, for a private grudge he owed the 
owner of the books and the room, he had done mis- 
chief in that house that would be discovered by-and- 
by : he said too that his name was the Sage Munaton." 

"He must have said Friston," said Don Quixote. 

" I don't know whether he called himself Friston or 
Friton," said the housekeeper, "I only know that his 
name ended with ' ton.' " 

"So it does," said Don Quixote, "and he is a sage 
magician, a great enemy of mine, who has a spite 
against me because he knows by his arts and lore that 
in process of time I am to engage in single combat 



Chapter VI 49 

with a knight whom he befriends and that I am to 
conquer, and he will be unable to prevent it : and for 
this reason he endeavors to do me all the ill turns that 
he can ; but I promise him it will be hard for him to 
oppose or avoid what is decreed by Heaven." 

"Who doubts that?'' said the niece; " but, uncle, 
who mixes you up in these quarrels? Would it not 
be better to remain at peace in your own house in- 
stead of roaming the world looking for better bread 
than ever came of wheat, never reflecting that many 
go for wool and*come back shorn?" 

" Oh, niece of mine," replied Don Quixote, "how 
much astray art thou in thy reckoning : ere they shear 
me I shall have plucked away and stripped off the 
beards of all who would dare to touch only the tip of 
a hair of mine." 

The two were unwilling to make any further answer, 
as they saw that his anger was kindling. 

In short, then, he remained at home fifteen days 
very quietly without showing any signs of a desire to 
take up with his former delusions, and during this 
time he held lively discussions with his two gossips, 
the curate and the barber, on the point he maintained, 
that knights- errant were what the world stood most in 
need of, and that in him was to be accomplished the 
revival of knight-errantry. The curate sometimes con- 
tradicted him, sometimes agreed with him, for if he 
had not observed this precaution he would have been 
unable to bring him to reason. 

Meanwhile Don Quixote worked on a farm laborer, 
a neighbor of his, an honest man, but with very little 

E 



SO Don Quixote 

wit in his pate. In a word, he so talked him over, 
and with such persuasions and promises, that the poor 
clown made up his mind to sally forth with him and 
serve him as esquire. Don Quixote, among other 
things, told him he ought to be ready to go with 
him gladly, because any moment an adventure might 
occur that might win an island in the twinkling of an 
eye and leave him governor of it. On these and the 
like promises Sancho Panza (for so the laborer was 
called) left wife and children, and engaged himself as 
esquire to his neighbor. Don Quixote next set about 
getting some money ; and selling one thing and pawn- 
ing another, and making a bad bargain in every case, 
he got together a fair sum. He provided himself with 
a buckler, which he begged as a loan from a friend, 
and, restoring his battered helmet as best he could, 
he warned his squire Sancho of the day and hour he 
meant to set out, that he might provide himself with 
what he thought most needful. Above all, he charged 
him to take alforjas 1 with him. The other said he 
would, and that he meant to take also a very good ass 
he had, as he was not much given to going on foot. 
About the ass, Don Quixote hesitated a little, trying 
whether he could call to mind any knight-errant tak- 
ing with him an esquire mounted on ass-back, but no 
instance occurred to his memory. For all that, how- 
ever, he determined to take him, intending to furnish 
him with a more honorable mount when a chance of 
it presented itself, by appropriating the horse of the 

1 Alforjas : el sort of double wallet serving for saddle-bags, but 
more frequently carried slung across the shoulder. 



Chapter VI 51 

first discourteous knight he encountered. Himself he 
provided with shirts and such other things as he could ; 
all which being settled and done, without taking leave, 
Sancho Panza of his wife and children, or Don Quixote 
of his housekeeper and niece, they sallied forth unseen 
by anybody from the village one night, and made such 
good way in the course of it that by daylight they held 
themselves safe from discovery, even should search be 
made for them. 

Sancho rode on his ass like a patriarch with his 
alforjas and bota, 1 and longing to see himself soon 
governor of the island his master had promised him. 
Don Quixote decided on taking the same route and 
road he had taken on his first journey, that over the 
Campo de Montiel, which he travelled with less dis- 
comfort than on the last occasion, for, as it was early 
morning and the rays of the sun fell on them obliquely, 
the heat did not distress them. 

And now said Sancho Panza to his master, "Your 
worship will take care, Senor Knight-errant, not to 
forget about the island you have promised me, for be 
it ever so big I'll be equal to governing it." 

To which Don Quixote replied, " Thou must know, 
friend Sancho Panza, that it was a practice very much 
in vogue with the knights-errant of old to make their 
squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they won, 
and I am determined that there shall be no failure on 
my part in so liberal a custom ; on the contrary, I 
mean to improve on it, for they sometimes, and per- 
haps most frequently, waited until their squires were 
old, and then when they had had enough of service and 

1 Bota : a leathern wine-bag. 



52 Don Quixote 

hard days and worse nights, they gave them some title 
or other, of count, or at the most marquis, of some 
valley or province more or less ; but if thou livest and 
I live, it may well be that before six days are over, I 
may have won some kingdom that has others de- 
pendent on it, which will be just the thing to enable 
thee to be crowned king of one of them. Nor needst 
thou count this wonderful, for things and chances fall 
to the lot of such knights in ways so unexampled and 
unexpected that I might easily give thee even more 
than I promise thee." 

"In that case," said Sancho Panza, "if I should 
become a king by one of those miracles your worship 
speaks of, even Juana Gutierrez, my old woman, 
would come to be queen and my children princes and 
princesses." 

"Well, who doubts it?" said Don Quixote. 

"I doubt it," replied Sancho Panza, "because for 
my part I am persuaded that though God should 
shower down kingdoms on earth, not one of them 
would fit the head of Mari Gutierrez. Let me tell 
you, sefior, she is not worth two maravedis for a queen ; 
countess will fit her better, and that only with God's 
help." 

" Leave it to God, Sancho," returned Don Quixote, 
" for he will give her what suits her best ; but do not 
undervalue thyself so much as to come to be content 
with anything less than being governor of a province." 

" I will not, sefior," answered Sancho, " especially 
as I have a man of such quality for a master in your 
worship, who will be able to give me all that will be 
suitable for me and that I can bear." 



CHAPTER VII 

OF THE GOOD FORTUNE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE 
HAD IN THE TERRIBLE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVEN- 
TURE OF THE WINDMILLS, WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES 
WORTHY TO BE FITLY RECORDED 

AT this point they came in sight of thirty or forty 
windmills that there are on that plain, and as 
soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his 
squire, " Fortune is arranging matters for us better 
than we could have shaped our desires ourselves, for 
look there, friend Sancho Panza, where thirty or more 
monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I 
mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose 
spoils we shall begin to make our fortunes ; for this is 
righteous warfare, and it is God's good service to sweep 
so evil a breed from off the face of the earth." 

"What giants? " said Sancho Panza. 

"Those thou seest there," answered his master, 
"with the long arms, and some have them nearly two 
leagues long." 

"Look, your worship," said Sancho; "what we see 
there are not giants but windmills, and what seem to 
be their arms are the sails that turned by the wind 
make the millstone go." 

" It is easy to see," replied Don Quixote, " that 
thou art not used to this business of adventures ; those 

53 



54 Don Quixote 

are giants ; and if thou art afraid, away with thee out 
of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage 
them in fierce and unequal combat." 

So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, 
heedless of the cries his squire Sancho sent after him, 
warning him that most certainly they were windmills 
and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, 
was so positive they were giants that he neither heard 
the cries of Sancho, nor perceived, near as he was, 
what they were, but made at them, shouting, " Fly not, 
cowards and vile beings, for it is a single knight that 
attacks you." 

A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the 
great sails began to move, seeing which Don Quixote 
exclaimed; "Though ye flourish more arms than the 
giant Briareus, ye have to reckon with me." 

So saying, and commending himself with all his 
heart to his lady Dulcinea, imploring her to support 
him in such a peril, with lance in rest and covered by 
his buckler, he charged at Rocinante's fullest gallop 
and fell on the first mill that stood in front of him ; 
but as he drove his lance-point into the sail the wind 
whirled it round with such force that it shivered the 
lance to pieces, sweeping with it horse and rider, who 
went rolling over on the plain, in a sorry condition. 
Sancho hastened to his assistance as fast as his ass 
could go, and when he came up found him unable to 
move, with such a shock had Rocinante fallen with 
him. 

" God bless me ! " said Sancho, " did I not tell 
your worship to mind what you were about, for they 




DON QUIXOTE ATTACKS THE WINDMILLS 



Chapter VII 55 

were only windmills? and no one could have made 
any mistake about it but one who had something of 
the same kind in his head." 

" Hush, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote, " the 
fortunes of war more than any other are liable to fre- 
quent fluctuations ; and moreover I think, and it is 
the truth, that that same sage Friston who carried off 
my study and books has turned these giants into mills 
in order to rob me of the glory of vanquishing them, 
such is the enmity he bears me • but in the end his 
wicked arts will avail but little against my good 
sword." 

" God order it as he may," said Sancho Panza, and 
helping him to rise got him up again on Rocinante, 
and then, discussing the late adventure, they followed 
the road to Puerto Lapice, for there, said Don Qui- 
xote, they could not fail to find adventures in abun- 
dance and variety, as it was a great thoroughfare. 
For all that, he was much grieved at the loss of his 
lance, and saying so to his squire, he added, " I re- 
member having read how a Spanish knight, Diego 
Perez de Vargas by name, having broken his sword in 
battle, tore from an oak a ponderous bough or branch, 
and with it did such things that day, and pounded so 
many Moors, that he got the surname of Machuca, 1 
and he and his descendants from that day forth were 
called Vargas y Machuca. I mention this because 
from the first oak I see I mean to rend such another 
branch, large and stout like that, with which I am de- 
termined and resolved to do such deeds that thou 

^>Machuca means "to pound." 



$6 Don Quixote 

mayest deem thyself very fortunate in being found 
worthy to come and see them, and be an eye-witness 
of things that will with difficulty be believed."' 

'•Be that as God will," said Sancho, "I believe it 
all as your worship says it ; but straighten yourself a 
little, for you seem all on one side, maybe from the 
shaking of the fall." 

"That is the truth/' said Don Quixote, "and if I 
make no complaint of the pain it is because knights- 
errant are not permitted to complain of any wound." 

" If so," said Sancho, " I have nothing to say ; but 
God knows I would rather your worship complained 
when anything ailed you. For my part, I confess I 
must complain however small the ache may be : unless 
indeed this rule about not complaining extends to the 
squires of knights-errant also." 

Don Quixote could not help laughing at his squire's 
simplicity, and he assured him he might complain 
whenever and however he chose, just as he liked, for, 
so far, he had never read of anything to the contrary 
in the order of knighthood. 

Sancho bade him remember it was dinner-time, to 
which his master answered that he wanted nothing 
himself just then, but that he might eat when he had 
a mind. With this permission Sancho settled himself 
as comfortably as he could on his beast, and taking 
out of the alio rj as what he had stowed away in them, 
he jogged" along behind his master munching deliber- 
ately, and from time to time taking a pull at the bota 
with a relish that the thirstiest tapster in Malaga might 
have envied ; and while he went on in this way, gulp- 



Chapter VII 57 

ing down draught after draught, he never gave a 
thought to any of the promises his master had made 
him, nor did he rate it as hardship but rather as rec- 
reation going in quest of adventures, however danger- 
ous they might be. Finally they passed the night 
among some trees, from one of which Don Quixote 
plucked a dry branch to serve him after a fashion as 
a lance, and fixed on it the head he had removed 
from the broken one. All that night Don Quixote lay 
awake thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in order to con- 
form to what he had read in his books, how many a 
night in the forests and deserts knights used to lie 
sleepless supported by the memory of their mistresses. 
Not so did Sancho Panza spend it, for having his 
stomach full of something stronger than chiccory water 
he made but one sleep of it, and, if his master had 
not called him, neither the rays of the sun beating on 
his face nor all the cheery notes of the birds welcoming 
the approach of day would have had power to waken 
him. On getting up he tried the bota and found it 
somewhat less full than the night before, which grieved 
his heart because they did not seem to be on the way 
to remedy the deficiency readily. Don Quixote did 
not care to break his fast, for, as has been already 
said, he confined himself to savory recollections for 
nourishment. 

They returned to the road they had set out with, 
leading to Puerto Lapice, and at three in the after- 
noon they came in sight of it. "Here, brother San- 
cho Panza," said Don Quixote when he saw it, " we 
may plunge our hands up to the elbows in what they 



58 Don Quixote 

call adventures ; but observe, even shouldst thou see 
me in the greatest danger in the world, thou must not 
put a hand to thy sword in my defence, unless indeed 
thou perceivest that those who assail me are rabble or 
base folk ; for in that case thou mayest very properly 
aid me ; but if they be knights it is on no account 
permitted or allowed thee by the laws of knighthood 
to help me until thou hast been dubbed a knight." 

"Most certainly, sefior," replied Sancho, "your 
worship shall be fully obeyed in this matter ; all the 
more as of myself I am peaceful and no friend to 
mixing in strife and quarrels : it is true that as regards 
the defence of my own person I shall not give much 
heed to those laws, for laws human and divine allow 
each one to defend himself against any assailant 
whatever." 

"That I grant," said Don Quixote, "but in this 
matter of aiding me against knights thou must put 
a restraint on thy natural impetuosity." 

" I will do so, I promise you," answered Sancho, 
"and I will keep this precept as carefully as Sunday." 

While they were thus talking there appeared on the 
road two friars of the order of St. Benedict, mounted 
on two dromedaries, for not less tall were the two 
mules they rode on. They wore travelling spectacles 
and carried sunshades ; and behind them came a 
coach attended by four or five persons on horseback 
and two muleteers on foot. In the coach there was, 
as afterwards appeared, a Biscay lady on her way to 
Seville, where her husband was about to take passage 
for the Indies with an appointment of high honor. 



Chapter VII 59 

The friars, though going the same road, were not 
in her company \ but the moment Don Quixote per- 
ceived them he said to his squire, " Either I am mis- 
taken, or this is going to be the most famous adventure 
that has ever been seen, for those black bodies we see 
there must be, and doubtless are, magicians who are 
carrying off some stolen princess in that coach, and 
with air my might I must undo this wrong." 

"This will be worse than the windmills," said San- 
cho. " Look, sefior ; those are friars of St. Benedict, 
and the coach plainly belongs to some travellers : 
mind, I tell you to have a care what you are about 
and don't let the devil mislead you." 

" I have told thee already, Sancho," replied Don 
Quixote, " that on the subject of adventures thou 
knowest little. What I say is the truth, as thou shalt 
see presently." 

So saying, he advanced and posted himself in the 
middle of the road along which the friars were coming, 
and as soon as he thought they had come near enough 
to hear what he said, he cried aloud, " Devilish and 
unnatural beings, release instantly the high-born prin- 
cesses whom you are carrying off by force in this 
coach, else prepare to meet a speedy death as the 
just punishment of your evil deeds." 

The friars drew rein and stood wondering at the 
appearance of Don Quixote as well as at his words, 
to which they replied, " Sefior Caballero, we are not 
devilish or unnatural, but two brothers of St. Benedict 
following our road, nor do we know whether or not 
there are any captive princesses coming in this coach." 



Go Don Quixote 

"No soft words with me, for I know you, lying 
rabble," said Don Quixote, and without waiting for a 
reply he spurred Rocinante and with levelled lance 
charged the first friar with such fury and determina- 
tion, that, if the friar had not flung himself off the 
mule, he would have brought him to the ground 
against his will, and sore wounded, if not killed out- 
right. The second brother, seeing how his comrade 
was treated, drove his heels into his castle of a mule 
and made off across the country faster than the wind. 

Sancho Panza, when he saw the friar on the ground, 
dismounting briskly from his ass, rushed towards him 
and began to strip off his gown. At that instant the 
friars' muleteers came up and asked what he was 
stripping him for. Sancho answered them that this 
fell to him lawfully as spoil of the battle which his 
lord Don Quixote had won. The muleteers, who had 
no idea of a joke and did not understand all this 
about battles and spoils, seeing that Don Quixote was 
some distance off talking to the travellers in the coach, 
fell on Sancho, knocked him down, and leaving hardly 
a hair in his beard, belabored him with kicks and left 
him stretched breathless and senseless on the ground ; 
and without any more delay helped the friar to mount, 
who, trembling, terrified, and pale, as soon as he found 
himself in the saddle, spurred after his companion, 
who was standing at a distance looking on, watching 
the result of the onslaught ; then, not caring to wait 
for the end of the affair just begun, they pursued their 
journey making more crosses than if they had the devil 
after them. 



Chapter VII 61 

Don Quixote was, as has been said, speaking to the 
lady in the coach: "Your beauty, lady mine," said 
he, " may now dispose of your person as may be most 
in accordance with your pleasure, for the pride of 
your assailants lies prostrate on the ground through 
this strong arm of mine; and lest you should be 
pining to learn the name of your deliverer, know that 
I am called Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant 
and adventurer, and captive to the peerless and beau- 
tiful lady Dulcinea del Toboso : and in return for the 
service you have received of me I ask no more than 
that you should return to El Toboso, and on my be- 
half present yourself before that lady and tell her what 
I have done to set you free." 

One of the squires in attendance on the coach, a 
Biscayan, was listening to all Don Quixote was saying, 
and, perceiving that he would not allow the coach to 
go on, but was saying it must return at once to El 
Toboso, he made at him, and seizing his lance ad- 
dressed him in bad Castilian after this fashion, " Be- 
gone, caballero, and ill go with thee ; by the God that 
made me, unless thou quittest coach, slayest thee as 
art here a Biscayan." 

Don Quixote understood him quite well, and an- 
swered him very quietly, " If thou wert a knight, as 
thou art none, I should have already chastised thy 
folly and rashness, miserable creature." To which 
the Biscayan returned, " I no gentleman ! — I swear 
to God thou liest as I am Christian : if thou droppest 
lance and drawest sword, soon shalt thou know what 
thou hast to deal with." 



6i Don Quixote 

"You will see presently," replied Don Quixote; 

and throwing his lance on the ground he drew his 
sword, braced his buckler on his arm, and attacked 
the Biscayan, bent on taking his life. 

The Biscayan, when he saw him coming on, though 
he wished to dismount from his mule, in which, being 
one of those sorry ones let out for hire, he had no 
confidence, had no choice but to draw his sword ; it 
was lucky for him, however, that he was near the 
coach, from which he was able to snatch a cushion 
that served him for a shield : and then they went at 
one another as if they had been two mortal enemies. 
The others strove to make peace between them, but 
could not, for the Biscayan declared in his disjointed 
phrase that if they did not let him finish his battle he 
would kill his mistress and every one that strove to 
prevent him. The lady in the coach, amazed and 
terrified at what she saw, ordered the coachman to 
draw aside a little, and set herself to watch this severe 
struggle, in the course of which the Biscayan smote 
Don Quixote a mighty stroke on the shoulder over 
the top of his buckler, which, given to one without 
armor, would have cleft him to the waist. Don 
Quixote, feeling the weight of this prodigious blow, 
cried aloud, saying, " O lady of my soul, Dulcinea, 
flower of beauty, come to the aid of this your knight, 
who, in fulfilling his obligations to your beauty, finds 
himself in this extreme peril." 

To say this, to lift his sword, to shelter himself well 
behind his buckler, and to assail the Biscayan was the 
work of an instant, determined as he was to venture 



Chapter VII 63 

all on a single blow. The Biscayan, seeing him come 
on in this way, was convinced of his courage by his 
spirited bearing, and resolved to follow his example, 
so he waited for him keeping well under cover of his 
cushion, being unable to execute any sort of manoeuvre 
with his mule, which, dead tired and never meant for 
this kind of game, could not stir a step. 

On, then, as aforesaid, came Don Quixote against 
the wary Biscayan, with a firm intention of splitting 
him in half, while on his side the Biscayan waited for 
him sword in hand, and under the protection of his 
cushion; and all present stood trembling, waiting in 
suspense the result of blows such as threatened to fall, 
and the lady in the coach and the rest of her following 
were making a thousand vows and offerings to all the 
images and shrines of Spain, that God might deliver 
her squire and all of them from this great peril in 
which they found themselves. 

With trenchant swords upraised it seemed as though 
the two valiant and wrathful combatants stood threat- 
ening heaven, and earth, and hell, with such resolution 
and determination did they bear themselves. The 
fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which was 
delivered with such force and fury that had not the 
sword turned in its course, that single stroke would 
have sufficed to put an end to the bitter struggle and 
to all the adventures of our knight ; but that good 
fortune which reserved him for greater things, turned 
aside the sword of his adversary, so that, although it 
smote him on the left shoulder, it did him no more 
harm than to strip all that side of its armor, carrying 



64 Don Quixote 

away a great part of his helmet with half of his ear, 
all which with fearful ruin fell to the ground, leaving 
him in a sorry plight. 

Who is there that could properly describe the rage 
that filled the heart of our Manchegan when he saw 
himself dealt with in this fashion? All that can be 
said is, it was such that he again raised himself in his 
stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both 
hands, he came down on the Biscayan with such fury, 
smiting him full over the cushion and over the head, 
that — even so good a shield proving useless — as if a 
mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from 
nose and mouth, reeling as if about to fall backwards 
from his mule, as no doubt he would have done had 
he not flung his arms about its neck ; at the same time 
however, he slipped his feet out of the stirrups and 
then unclasped his arms, and the mule, taking fright 
at the terrible blow, made off across the plain, and 
with a few plunges flung its master to the ground. 

Don Quixote stood looking on very calmly, and, when 
he saw him fall, leaped from his horse and with great 
briskness ran to him, and, presenting the point of his 
sword to his eyes, bade him surrender, or he w T ould 
cut his head off. The Biscayan was so bewildered 
that he was unable to answer a word, and it would 
have gone hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, 
had not the ladies in the coach, who had hitherto 
been w T atching the combat in great terror, hastened 
to where he stood and implored him with earnest 
entreaties to grant them the great grace and favor of 
sparing their squire's life ; to which Don Quixote 



I 



Chapter VII 6$ 

replied with much gravity and dignity, " In truth, fair 
ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of me ; 
but it must be on one condition and understanding, 
which is that this knight promise me to go to the 
village of El Toboso, and on my part present himself 
before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal with 
him as shall be most pleasing to her." 

The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without dis- 
cussing Don Quixote's demand or asking who Dul- 
cinea might be, promised that their squire should do 
all that had been commanded on his part. 

"Then, on the faith of that promise," said Don 
Quixote, " I shall do him no further harm, though he 
well deserves it of me." 



CHAPTER VIII 

OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN 
DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA 

BY this time Sancho had risen, rather the worse 
for the handling of the friars' muleteers, and 
stood watching the battle of his master, Don 
Quixote, and praying to God in his heart that it might 
be his will to grant him the victory, and that he 
might thereby win some island to make him governor 
of, as he had promised. Seeing, therefore, that the 
struggle was now over, and that his master was re- 
turning to mount Rocinante, he approached to hold 
the stirrup for him, and before he could mount, he 
went on his knees before him, and taking his hand, 
kissed it saying, " May it please your worship, Senor 
Don Quixote, to give me the government of that is- 
land which has been won in this hard fight, for be it 
ever so big I feel myself in sufficient force to be able 
to govern it as much and as well as any one in the 
world who has ever governed islands." 

To which Don Quixote replied, " Thou must take 
notice, brother Sancho, that this adventure and those 
like it are not adventures of islands, but of cross-roads, 
in which nothing is got except a broken head or an 
ear the less : have patience, for adventures will pre- 

66 



Chapter VIII 67 

sent themselves from which I may make you, not only 
a governor, but something more." 

Sancho gave him many thanks, and again kissing 
his hand and the skirt of his hauberk, helped him to 
mount Rocinante, and mounting his ass himself, pro- 
ceeded to follow his master, who at a brisk pace, 
without taking leave, or saying anything further to 
the ladies belonging to the coach, turned into a wood 
that was hard by. Sancho followed him at his ass's 
best trot, but Rocinante stepped out so that, seeing 
himself left behind, he was forced to call to his mas- 
ter to wait for him. Don Quixote did so, reining in 
Rocinante until his weary squire came up, who on 
reaching him said, " It seems to me, senor, it would 
be prudent in us to go and take refuge in some church, 
for, seeing how mauled he with whom you fought has 
been left, it will be no wonder if they give information 
of the affair to the Holy Brotherhood 1 and arrest us, 
and, faith, if they do, before we come out of jail we 
shall have to sweat foR it." 

" Peace," said Don Quixote \ " where hast thou 
ever seen or heard that a knight-errant has been ar- 
raigned before a court of justice, however many homi- 
cides he may have committed? " 

" I know nothing about homicides," answered San- 
cho, "nor in my life have had anything to do with 
one." 

"Then thou needst have no uneasiness, my friend," 

1 Holy Brotherhood : a tribunal with summary jurisdiction over 
offenders against life and property on the highways and outside 
of the municipal boundaries. 



68 Don Quixote 

said Don Quixote, " for I will deliver thee out of the 
hands of the Chaldeans, much more out of those of 
the Brotherhood. But tell me, as thou livest, hast 
thou seen a more valiant knight than I in all the 
known world \ hast thou read in history of any who 
has or had higher mettle in attack, more spirit in 
maintaining it, more dexterity in wounding or skill in 
overthrowing ? " 

"The truth is," answered Sancho, "that I have 
never read any history, for I can neither read nor 
write, but what I will venture to bet is that a more 
daring master than your worship I have never served 
in all the days of my life, and God grant that this dar- 
ing be not paid for w T here I have said ; what I beg of 
your worship is to dress your wound, for a great deal 
of blood flows from that ear, and I have here some 
lint and a little white ointment in the alforjas." 

" All that might be well dispensed with," said Don 
Quixote, " if I had remembered to make a vial of the 
balsam of Fierabras, for time and medicine are saved 
by one single drop." 

" What vial and what balsam is that? " said Sancho 
Panza. 

" It is a balsam," answered Don Quixote, "the re- 
ceipt of which I have in my memory, with which one 
need have no fear of death, nor dread dying of any 
wound ; and so when I make it and give it to thee 
thou hast nothing to do when in some battle thou 
seest they have cut me in half through the middle of 
the body — as is wont to happen frequently — but 
neatly and with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to 



Chapter VIII 6 9 

place that portion of the body which shall have fallen 
to the ground on the other half which remains in the 
saddle, taking care to fit it on evenly and exactly. 
Then thou shalt give me to drink but two drops of 
the balsam I have mentioned, and thou shalt see me 
become sounder than an apple." 

" If that be so," said Panza, "I renounce hence- 
forth the government of the promised island, and de- 
sire nothing more in payment of my many and faith- 
ful services than that your worship give me the receipt 
of this supreme liquor, for I am persuaded it will be 
worth more than two reals an ounce anywhere, and I 
want no more to pass the rest of my life in ease and 
honor ; but it remains to be told if it costs much to 
make it." 

" With less than three reals six quarts of it may be 
made," said Don Quixote. 

" Sinner that I am ! " said Sancho, " then why does 
your worship put off making it and teaching it to me?" 

" Peace, friend," answered Don Quixote; "greater 
secrets I mean to teach thee and greater favors to 
bestow on thee ; and for the present let us see to the 
dressing, for my ear pains me more than I could wish." 

Sancho took out some lint and ointment from the 
alforjas ; but when Don Quixote came to see his 
helmet shattered, he was like to lose his senses, and 
clapping his hand on his sword and raising his eyes 
to heaven, he said, " I swear by the Creator of all 
things and the four Gospels in their fullest extent, 
to do as the great Marquis of Mantua did when he 
swore to avenge the death of his nephew Baldwin 



70 Don Quixote 

(and that was not to eat bread from a table-cloth, 
and other points which, though I cannot now call 
them to mind, I here grant as expressed), until I take 
complete vengeance on him who has committed such 
an offence against me." 

Hearing this, Sancho said to him, " Your worship 
should bear in mind, Sefior Don Quixote, that if the 
knight has done what was commanded him in going 
to present himself before my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, 
he will have done all that he was bound to do, and 
does not deserve further punishment unless he com- 
mits some new offence." 

" Thou hast said well and hit the point," answered 
Don Quixote ; " and so I recall the oath in so far as 
relates to taking fresh vengeance on him, but I make 
and confirm it anew to lead the life I have said until 
such time as I take by force from some knight another 
helmet such as this and as good." 

"Sen or," replied Sancho, "let your worship send 
all such oaths to the devil, for they are very perni- 
cious to salvation and prejudicial to the conscience ; 
just tell me now, if for several days to come we fall 
in with no man armed with an helmet, what are we to 
do? Is the oath to be observed in spite of all the 
inconvenience and discomfort it will be to sleep in 
your clothes, and not to sleep in a house, and a thou- 
sand other mortifications contained in the oath of that 
old fool the Marquis of Mantua, which your worship 
is now wanting to revive ? Let your worship observe 
that there are no men in armor travelling on any of 
these roads, nothing but carriers and carters, who not 



Chapter VIII 71 

only do not wear helmets, but perhaps never heard 
tell of them all their lives." 

"Thou art wrong there/' said Don Quixote, "for 
we shall not have been two hours among these cross- 
roads before w r e see more men in armor than came to 
Albraca to win the fair Angelica." 

" Enough," said Sancho; "so be it then, and God 
grant us success, and that the time for winning that 
island which is costing me so dear may soon come, 
and then let me die." 

" I have already told thee, Sancho," said Don 
Quixote, " not to give thyself any uneasiness on that 
score. Let us leave that to its own time ; see if thou 
hast anything for us to eat in those alforjas, because 
we must presently go in quest of some castle where 
we may lodge to-night and make the balsam I told 
thee of, for I swear to thee this ear is giving me great 
pain." 

" I have here an onion and a little cheese and a 
few scraps of bread," said Sancho, "but they are not 
victuals fit for a valiant knight like your worship." 

" How little thou knowest about it," answered Don 
Quixote ; " I would have thee to know, Sancho, that 
it is the glory of knights-errant to go without eating 
for a month, and even when they do eat, that it should 
be of what comes first to hand ; and this would have 
been clear to thee hadst thou read as many histories 
as I have, for, though they are very many, among them 
all I have found no mention made of knights- errant 
eating, unless by accident or at some sumptuous ban- 
quets prepared for them, and the rest of the time they 



7 2 Don Quixote 

passed in dalliance. And though it is plain they could 
not do without eating, because, in fact, they were men 
like ourselves, it is plain too that, wandering as they 
did the most part of their lives through woods and 
wilds and without a cook, their most usual fare would 
be rustic viands such as those thou dost now offer me \ 
so that, friend Sancho, let not that distress thee which 
pleases me, and do not seek to make a new world or 
pervert knight-errantry." 

" Pardon me, your worship," said Sancho, "for, as 
I cannot read or write, as I said just now, I neither 
know nor comprehend the rules of the profession of 
chivalry : henceforward I will stock the alforjas with 
every kind of dry fruit for your worship, as you are a 
knight ; and for myself, as I am not one, I will fur- 
nish them with poultry and other things more sub- 
stantial." 

" I do not say, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, " that 
it is imperative on knights- errant not to eat anything 
else but the fruits thou speakest of; only that their 
more usual diet must be those, and certain herbs they 
found in the fields which they knew and I know too." 

" A good thing it is," answered Sancho, " to know 
those herbs, for to my thinking it will be needful some 
day to put that knowledge into practice." 

And here taking out what he said he had brought, 
the pair made their repast peaceably and sociably. 
But anxious to find quarters for the night, they with 
all despatch made an end of their poor dry fare, 
mounted at once, and made haste to reach some hab- 
itation before night set in ; but daylight and the hope 



Chapter VIII 73 

of succeeding in their object failed them close by the 
huts of some goatherds, so they determined to pass 
the night there, and it was as much to Sancho's dis- 
content not to have reached a house, as it was to his 
master's satisfaction to sleep under the open heaven, 
for he fancied that each time this happened to him he 
performed an act that helped to prove his chivalry. 



CHAPTER IX 

OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH CERTAIN GOAT- 
HERDS 

HE was cordially welcomed by the goatherds, and 
Sancho, having as best he could put up Roci- 
nante and the ass, drew towards the fragrance 
that came from some pieces of salted goat simmering 
in a pot on the fire ; and though he would have liked 
at once to try if they were ready to be transferred from 
the pot to the stomach, he refrained from doing so as 
the goatherds removed them from the fire, and laying 
sheepskins on the ground, quickly spread their rude 
table, and with signs of hearty good-will invited them 
both to share what they had. Round the skins six of 
the men belonging to the fold seated themselves, hav- 
ing first with rough politeness pressed Don Quixote to 
take a seat on a trough which they placed for him 
upside down. Don Quixote seated himself, and San- 
cho remained standing to serve the cup, which was 
made of horn. Seeing him standing, his master said 
to him, " That thou mayest see, Sancho, the good that 
knight-errantry contains in itself, and how those who 
fill any office in it are on the high road to be speedily 
honored and esteemed by the world, I desire that thou 
seat thyself here at my side and in the company of 

74 



Chapter IX 75 

these worthy people, and that thou be one with me who 
am thy master and natural lord, and that thou eat from 
my plate and drink from whatever I drink from ; for 
the same may be said of knight-errantry as of love, 
that it levels all." 

"Great thanks," said Sancho, "but I may tell your 
worship that provided I have enough to eat, I can eat 
it as well, or better, standing, and by myself, than seated 
alongside of an emperor. And indeed if the truth is 
to be told, what I eat in my corner without form or 
fuss has much more relish for me, even though it be 
bread and onions, than the turkeys of those other 
tables where I am forced to chew slowly, drink little, 
wipe my mouth every minute, and cannot sneeze or 
cough if I want, or do other things that are the privi- 
leges of liberty and solitude." 

" For all that," said Don Quixote, " thou must seat 
thyself, because him who humbleth himself God ex- 
alteth " ; and seizing him by the arm he forced him to 
sit down beside himself. 

The goatherds did not understand this jargon, and 
all they did was to eat in silence and stare at their 
guests, who with great elegance and appetite were 
stowing away pieces as big as one's fist. The course 
of meat finished, they spread on the sheepskins a great 
heap of parched acorns, and with them they put dcwn 
a half cheese harder than if it had been made of mor- 
tar. All this while the horn was not idle, for it went 
round so constantly, now full, now empty, that it soon 
drained one of the two wine-skins that were in sight. 
When Don Quixote had quite appeased his appetite, 



y6 Don Quixote 

he took up a handful of the acorns, and contemplating 
them attentively delivered himself somewhat in this 
fashion : — 

" Happy the age, happy the time, to which the an- 
cients gave the name of golden, not because in that 
fortunate age the gold was gained without toil, but 
because they that lived in it knew not the two words 
' mine ' and * thine 7 In that blessed age all things 
were in common : to win the daily food no labor was 
required of any save to stretch forth his hand and 
gather it from the sturdy oaks that stood generously 
inviting him with their sweet ripe fruit. The clear 
streams and running brooks yielded their limpid waters 
in noble abundance. The busy and sagacious bees 
fixed their republic in the clefts of the rocks and 
hollows of the trees, offering freely the plenteous 
produce of their fragrant toil to every hand. The 
mighty cork trees shed the broad light bark that 
served at first to roof the houses supported by 
rude stakes, a protection against the inclemency of 
heaven alone. Then all was peace, all friendship, all 
concord. Fraud, deceit, or malice had then not yet 
mingled with truth and sincerity. Justice held her 
ground, undisturbed and unassailed by the efforts of 
favor and of interest, that now so much impair, pervert, 
and beset her. Arbitrary law had not yet established 
itself in the mind of the judge, for then there was no 
cause to judge and no one to be judged. Maidens 
and modesty wandered at will alone and unattended, 
without fear. But now in this hateful age of ours not 
one is safe. In defence of these, as time advanced 



Chapter IX 77 

and wickedness increased, the order of knights- errant 
was instituted, to defend maidens, to protect widows, 
and to succor the orphans and the needy. To this 
order I belong, brother goatherds, to whom I return 
thanks for the hospitality and kindly welcome ye offer 
me and my squire ; for though by natural law all living 
are bound to show favor to knights- errant, yet seeing 
that without knowing this obligation ye have welcomed 
and feasted me, it is right that with all the good-will 
in my power I should thank you for yours." 

All this long harangue our knight delivered because 
the acorns they gave him reminded him of the golden 
age ; and the whim seized him to address all this un- 
necessary argument to the goatherds, who listened to 
him gaping in amazement without saying a word in 
reply. Sancho likewise held his peace and ate acorns, 
and paid repeated visits to the second wine-skin, 
which they had hung up on a cork tree to keep the 
wine cool. 

Don Quixote was longer in talking than in finishing 
his supper, at the end of which one of the goatherds 
said: "That your worship, senor knight-errant, may 
say with more truth that we show you hospitality with 
ready good-will, we will give you amusement and 
pleasure by making one of our comrades sing : he 
will be here before long, and he is a very intelligent 
youth and deep in love, and what is more he can read 
and write and play on the rebeck 1 to perfection." 

The goatherd had hardly done speaking, when the 
notes of the rebeck reached their ears ; and shortly 

1 Rebeck : a three-stringed lute. 



78 Don Quixote 

after the player came up, a very good-looking young 
man of about two-and-twenty. His comrades asked 
him if he had supped, and on his replying that he had, 
he who had already made the offer said to him : " In 
that case, Antonio, thou mayest as well do us the 
pleasure of singing a little, that the gentleman, our 
guest here, may see that even in the mountains and 
woods there are musicians ; we have told him of thy 
accomplishments, and we want thee to show them and 
prove that we say true ; so, as thou livest, pray sit 
down and sing that ballad about thy love that was so 
much liked in the town." 

" With all my heart," said the young man, and with- 
out waiting for any more pressing he seated himself 
on the trunk of a felled oak, and tuning his rebeck, 
presently began with right good grace to sing. 

When the goatherd brought his song to an end, 
Don Quixote entreated him to sing more, but Sancho 
had no mind that way, being more inclined for sleep 
than for listening to songs ; so said he to his master, 
" Your worship will do well to settle at once where 
you mean to pass the night, for the labor these good 
men are at all day does not allow them to spend the 
night in singing." 

" I understand thee, Sancho," replied Don Quixote ; 
" I perceive clearly that those visits to the wine-skin 
demand compensation in sleep rather than in music, 
but those of my calling are more becomingly employed 
in watching than in sleeping ; still it would be as well 
if thou wert to dress this ear for me again, for it is 
giving me more pain than it need." 



Chapter IX 79 

Sancho did as he bade him, but one of the goat- 
herds seeing the wound told him not to be uneasy, 
as he would apply a remedy with which it would be 
soon healed ; and gathering some leaves of rosemary, 
of which there was a great quantity there, he chewed 
them and mixed them with a little salt, and applying 
them to the ear he secured them firmly with a band- 
age, assuring him that no other treatment w r ould be 
required, and so it proved. 



CHAPTER X 

OF WHAT A GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON 
QUIXOTE 

JUST then another young man, one of those who 
fetched their provisions from the village, came 
up and said, " Do you know what is going on 
in the village, comrades?" 

" How could we know?" replied one of them. 

"Well, then, you must know," continued the young 
man, "this morning that famous student-shepherd 
called Chrysostom died, and it is rumored that he 
died of love for that fiend of a village girl, the daughter 
of Guillermo the Rich, she that wanders about the 
wolds here in the dress of a shepherdess." 

"You mean Marcela ? " said one. 

" Her I mean," answered the goatherd ; " and the 
best of it is, he has directed in his will that he is to be 
buried in the fields like a Moor, and at the foot of 
the rock where the Cork-tree Spring is, because, as the 
story goes (and they say he himself said so), that was 
the place where he first saw her. And he has also left 
other directions which the clergy of the village say 
should not and must not be obeyed because they savor 
of paganism. To all which his great friend Ambrosio 
the student, he who, like him, also went dressed as a 

80 



Chapter X x 8l 




shepherd, replies that everything must be done wrjjji- 
out any omission according to the directions left by 
Chrysostom, and about this the village is all in com- 
motion ; however, report says that, after all, what 
Ambrosio and all the shepherds his friends desire will 
be done, and to-morrow they are coming to bury him 
with great ceremony where I said. I am sure it will 
be something worth seeing ; at least I will not fail to 
go and see it." 

"We will do the same," answered the goatherds, 
"and cast lots to see who must stay to mind the goats." 

"Thou sayest well, Pedro," said one, " though there 
will be no need of taking that trouble, for I will stay 
behind for all ; and don't suppose it is virtue or want 
of curiosity in me ; it is that the splinter that ran into 
my foot the other day will not let me walk." 

" For all that, we thank thee," answered Pedro. 

Don Quixote asked Pedro to tell him who the dead 
man was and who the shepherdess, to which Pedro 
replied that all he knew was that the dead man was a 
wealthy gentleman belonging to a village in those 
mountains, who had been a student at Salamanca for 
many years, at the end of which he returned to his 
village with the reputation of being very learned and 
deeply read. "Above all," he said, "he was learned 
in the science of the stars and of what went on yonder 
in the heavens and the sun and the moon, for he 
told us of the eclipse of the sun and moon to the exact 
time.' 

" But, not many months had passed after he re- 
turned from Salamanca, when one day he appeared 



82 Don Quixote 

dressed as a shepherd with his crook and sheepskin, 
having put off the long gown he wore as a scholar ; 
and at the same time his great friend, Ambrosio by 
name, who had been his companion in his studies, 
took to the shepherd's dress with him. I forgot to say 
that Chrysostom who is dead was a great man for 
writing verses, so much so that he made carols for 
Christmas Eve, and plays for Corpus Christi which 
the young men of our village acted, and all said they 
were excellent. When the villagers saw the two 
scholars so unexpectedly appearing in shepherds' 
dress they were lost in wonder, and could not guess 
what had led them to make so extraordinary a change. 
About this time the father of our Chrysostom died, 
and he was left heir to a large amount of property, 
and indeed he was deserving of it all, for he was a very 
good comrade, and kind-hearted, and a friend of worthy 
folk, and had a countenance like a benediction. Pres- 
ently it came to be known that he had changed his 
dress with no other object than to wander about these 
wastes after that shepherdess Marcela. And I must 
tell you now, for it is well you should know it, who 
this girl is ; perhaps you will not have heard anything 
like it all the days of your life. 

" In our village there was a farmer even richer than 
the father of Chrysostom, who was named Guillermo, 
and on whom God bestowed, over and above great 
wealth, a daughter in whose infancy her mother died, 
the most respected woman there was in this neigh- 
borhood. Her husband Guillermo died of grief at 
the death of so good a wife, leaving his daughter 



Chapter X 83 

Marcela, a child and rich, to the care of an uncle of 
hers, a priest and prebendary in our village. The girl 
grew up with such beauty that it reminded us of her 
mother's which was very great, and yet it was thought 
that the daughter's would exceed it ; and so when she 
reached the age of fourteen to fifteen years nobody 
beheld her but blessed God that had made her so 
beautiful, and the greater number were in love with 
her past redemption. 

" Her uncle kept her in great seclusion and retire- 
ment, but for all that the fame of her great beauty 
spread so that, as well for it as for her great wealth, 
her uncle was asked, solicited, and importuned, to 
give her in marriage not only by those of our town 
but of those many leagues round, and by the per- 
sons of highest quality in them. But he, being a 
good Christian man, though he desired to give her 
in marriage at once, seeing her to be old enough, was 
unwilling to do so without her consent. The uncle 
put before his niece and described to her the qualities 
of each one in particular of the many who had asked 
her in marriage, begging her to marry and make a 
choice according to her own taste, but she never gave 
any other answer than that she had no desire to marry 
just yet, being so young. At this, to all appearance, 
reasonable excuse, her uncle ceased to urge her ; and 
waited till she was somewhat more advanced in age 
and could mate herself to her own liking. For, said 
he — and he said quite right — parents are not to 
settle children in life against their will. But when one 
least looked for it, lo and behold one day the demure 



84 Don Quixote 

Marcela makes her appearance turned shepherdess \ 
and, in spite of her uncle and all those of the town 
that strove to dissuade her, took to going a-field with 
the other shepherd-lasses of the village, and tending 
her own flock. And so, since she appeared in public, 
and her beauty came to be seen openly, I could not 
well tell you how many rich youths, gentlemen, and 
peasants have adopted the costume of Chrysostom, 
and go about these fields making love to her. One 
of these, as has been already said, was our deceased 
friend, of whom they say that he did not love but 
adored her. 

" But of all those that court and woo Marcela not 
one has boasted, or can with truth boast, that she 
has given him any hope however small of obtaining 
her. For although she does not avoid or shun the 
society and conversation of the shepherds, and treats 
them courteously and kindly, should any one of them 
come to declare his love to her, she flings him from 
her like a catapult. And with this kind of disposition 
she does more harm in this country than if the plague 
had got into it, for her affability and her beauty draw 
on the hearts of those that associate with her to love 
her and to court her, but her scorn and her frankness 
bring them to the brink of despair ; and so they know 
not what to say save to proclaim her aloud cruel and 
hard-hearted, and other names of the same sort which 
well describe the nature of her character ; and if you 
should remain here any time, senor, you would hear 
these hills and valleys resounding with the laments of 
the rejected ones who pursue her. Not far from this 



Chapter X 85 

there is a spot where there are a couple of dozen of tall 
beeches, and there is not one of them but has carved 
and written on its smooth bark the name of Marcela, 
and above some a crown carved on the same tree as 
though her lover would say more plainly that Marcela 
wore and deserved that of all human beauty. Here 
one shepherd is sighing, there another is lamenting ; 
there love songs are heard, here despairing elegies. 
One will pass all the hours of the night seated at the 
foot of some oak or rock, and there, without having 
closed his weeping eyes, the sun finds him in the 
morning ; and another without relief or respite to his 
sighs, stretched on the burning sand in the full heat 
of the sultry summer noontide, makes his appeal to 
the compassionate heavens, and over one and the 
other, over these and all, the beautiful Marcela tri- 
umphs free and careless. And all of us that know 
her are waiting to see what her pride will come to, and 
who is to be the happy man that will succeed in tam- 
ing a nature so formidable and gaining possession of 
a beauty so supreme. All that I have told you being 
such well-established truth, I am persuaded that what 
they say of the cause of Chrysostom's death, as our 
lad told us, is the same. And so I advise you, sefior, 
fail not to be present to-morrow at his burial, which 
will be well worth seeing, for Chrysostom had many 
friends, and it is not half a league from this place to 
where he directed he should be buried." 

" I will make a point of it," said Don Quixote, " and 
I thank you for the pleasure you have given me by 
relating so interesting a tale." 



86 Don Quixote 

" Oh," said the goatherd, " I do not know even the 
half of what has happened to the lovers of Marcela, 
but perhaps to-morrow we may fall in with some shep- 
herd on the road who can tell us ; and now it will be 
well for you to go and sleep under cover, for the night 
air may hurt your wound, though with the remedy I 
have applied to you there is no fear of an untoward 
result." 

Sancho Panza, on his" part, begged his master to go 
into Pedro's hut to sleep. He did so, and passed all 
the rest of the night in thinking of his lady Dulcinea, 
in imitation of the lovers of Marcela. Sancho Panza 
settled himself between Rocinante and his ass, and 
slept, not like a lover who had been discarded, but 
like a man who had been soundly kicked. 



CHAPTER XI 

IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS 
MARCELA, WITH OTHER INCIDENTS 

BUT hardly had day begun to show itself when 
five of the six goatherds came to rouse Don 
Quixote and tell him that if he was still of a 
mind to go to see the famous burial of Chrysostom they 
would bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired 
nothing better, rose and ordered Sancho to saddle and 
pannel at once, which he did with all despatch, and 
they all set out forthwith. They had not gone a quarter 
of a league when at the meeting of two paths they saw 
coming towards them some six shepherds dressed in 
black sheepskins and with their heads crowned with 
garlands of cypress and bitter oleander. Each of 
them carried a stout holly staff in his hand, and along 
with them there came two men of quality on horse- 
back in handsome travelling dress, with three servants 
on foot accompanying them. Courteous salutations 
were exchanged on meeting, and inquiring one of the 
other which way each party was going, they learned 
that all were bound for the scene of the burial ; so 
they went on all together. 

One of those on horseback addressing his com- 
panion said to him, " It seems to me, Senor Vivaldo, 

87 



88 Don Quixote 

that we may reckon as well spent the delay we shall 
incur in seeing this remarkable funeral.' ' 

" So I think too," replied Vivaldo. 

Don Quixote asked them what it was they had 
heard of Marcela and Chrysostom. The traveller 
answered that the same morning they had met these 
shepherds, and seeing them dressed in this mournful 
fashion they had asked them the reason of their 
appearing in such a guise ; which one of them gave, 
describing the strange behavior and beauty of a shep- 
herdess called Marcela, and the loves of many who 
courted her. In short, he repeated all that Pedro had 
related to Don Quixote. 

This conversation dropped, and another was com- 
menced by him who was called Vivaldo asking Don 
Quixote what was the reason that led him to go 
armed in that fashion in a country so peaceful. To 
which Don Quixote replied, "The pursuit of my call- 
ing does not allow or permit me to go in any other 
fashion • easy life, enjoyment, and repose were in- 
vented for soft courtiers, but toil, unrest, and arms 
were invented and made for those alone whom the 
world calls knights-errant, of whom I, though un- 
worthy, am the least of all." 

The instant they heard this all set him down as 
mad, and the better to settle the point and discover 
what kind of madness his was, Vivaldo proceeded to 
ask him what knights-errant meant. 

"Have not your worships," replied Don Quixote, 
" read the annals and histories of England, in which 
are recorded the famous deeds of King Arthur? Well, 



Chapter XI 89 

in the time of this good king that famous order of 
chivalry of the Knights of the Round Table was insti- 
tuted. Handed down from that time, then, this order 
of chivalry went on extending and spreading itself 
over many and various parts of the world ; and in it, 
famous and renowned for their deeds, were the mighty 
Amadis of Gaul with all his sons and descendants to 
the fifth generation. This, then, sirs, is to be a knight- 
errant, and what I have spoken of is the order of his 
chivalry, of which I, though a sinner, have made pro- 
fession, and so I go through these solitudes and wilds 
seeking adventures, resolved in soul to oppose my arm 
and person to the most perilous that fortune may offer 
me in aid of the weak and needy." 

By these words of his the travellers were able to 
satisfy themselves of Don Quixote's being out of his 
senses and of the form of madness that overmastered 
him, at which they felt the same astonishment that all 
felt on first becoming acquainted with it ; and Vivaldo, 
who was a person of great shrewdness and of a lively 
temperament, in order to beguile the short journey 
which they said was required to reach the mountain, 
the scene of the burial, sought to give him an oppor- 
tunity of going on with his absurdities. So he said 
to him, "It seems to me, Seiior Knight- errant, that 
your worship has made choice of one of the most 
austere professions in the world, and I imagine even 
that of the Carthusian monks is not so austere. " 

"As austere it may perhaps be," replied our Don 
Quixote, " but so necessary for the world I am very 
much inclined to doubt. Churchmen in peace and 



90 Don Quixote 

quiet pray to Heaven for the welfare of the world, 
but we soldiers and knights carry into effect what 
they pray for, defending it with the might of our arms 
and the edge of our swords, not under shelter but in 
the open air, a target for the intolerable rays of the 
sun in summer and the piercing frosts of winter. 
Thus are we God's ministers on earth and the arms 
by which His justice is done therein. And as the busi- 
ness of war and all that relates and belongs to it can- 
not be conducted without exceeding great sweat, toil, 
and exertion, it follows that those who make it their 
profession have undoubtedly more labor than those 
who in tranquil peace and quiet are engaged in pray- 
ing to God to help the weak. I do not mean to say 
that the knight-errant's calling is as good as that of 
the monk in his cell ; I would merely infer from what 
I endure myself that it is beyond a doubt a more 
laborious and a more belabored one, a hungrier and 
thirstier, a wretcheder, raggeder, and lousier ; for 
there is no reason to doubt that the knights- errant of 
yore endured much hardship in the course of their 
lives. And if some of them by the might of their 
arms did rise to be emperors, in faith it cost them 
dear in the matter of blood and sweat ; and if those 
who attained to that rank had not had magicians and 
sages to help them they would have been completely 
balked in their ambition and disappointed in their 
hopes." 

" That is my own opinion," replied the traveller ; 
" but one thing among many others seems to me very 
wrong in knights-errant, and that is that when they 



Chapter XI 91 

find themselves about to engage in some mighty and 
perilous adventure in which there is manifest danger 
of losing their lives, they never at the moment of 
engaging in it think of commending themselves to 
God, as is the duty of every good Christian in like 
peril j instead of which they commend themselves to 
their ladies with as much heartiness and devotion as 
if these were their gods, a thing which seems to me to 
savor somewhat of heathenism." 

" Sir," answered Don Quixote, " that cannot be on 
any account omitted, and the knight-errant would be 
disgraced who acted otherwise : for it is usual and 
customary in knight-errantry that the knight- errant 
who on engaging in any great feat of arms has his 
lady before him, should turn his eyes towards her 
softly and lovingly, as though with them entreating 
her to favor and protect him in the hazardous venture 
he is about to undertake, and even though no one 
hear him, he is bound to say certain words between 
his teeth, commending himself to her with all his 
heart, and of this we have innumerable instances in 
the histories. Nor is it to be supposed from this that 
they are to omit commending themselves to God, for 
there will be time and opportunity for doing so while 
they are engaged in their task." 

' l For all that," answered the traveller, " I feel some 
doubt still, because often I have read how words will 
arise between two knights-errant, and from one thing 
to another it comes about that their anger kindles and 
they wheel their horses round and take a good stretch 
of field, and then without any more ado at the top of 



g2 Don Quixote 

their speed they come to the charge, and in mid- 
career they commend themselves to their ladies ; and 
what commonly comes of the encounter is that one 
falls over the haunches of his horse pierced through 
and through by his antagonist's lance, and as for the 
other, it is only by holding on to the mane of his 
horse that he can help falling to the ground ; but I 
know not how the dead man had time to commend 
himself to God in the course of such rapid work as 
this ; it would have been better if those words which 
he spent in commending himself to his lady had been 
devoted to his duty and obligation as a Christian. 
Moreover, it is my belief that all knights- errant have 
not ladies to commend themselves to, for they are not 
all in love." 

"That is impossible," said Don Quixote ; " I say it 
is impossible that there could be a knight-errant with- 
out a lady, because to such it is as natural and proper 
to be in love as to the heavens to have stars : most 
certainly no history has been seen in which there is to 
be found a knight-errant without an amour." 

" Then if it be essential that every knight-errant 
should be in love," said the traveller, " it may be 
fairly supposed that your worship is so, as you are of 
the order ; I entreat you as earnestly as I can to in- 
form us of the name, country, rank, and beauty of 
your lady, for she will esteem herself fortunate if all 
the world knows that she is loved and served by such 
a knight as your worship seems to be." 

At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh, and said : 
" I cannot say positively whether my sweet enemy is 



Chapter XI 93 

pleased or not that the world should know I serve 
her ; I can only say in answer to what has been so 
courteously asked of me, that her name is Dulcinea. 
her country El Toboso, a village of La Mancha, her 
rank must be at least that of a princess, since she is 
my queen and lady, and her beauty superhuman, since 
all the attributes of beauty which the poets apply to 
their ladies are verified in her ; for her hairs are gold, 
her forehead Elysian fields, her eyebrows rainbows, 
her eyes suns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her 
teeth pearls, her neck alabaster, her bosom marble, 
her hands ivory, her fairness snow." 

The rest of the party went along listening with great 
attention to the conversation of the pair, and even the 
very goatherds and shepherds perceived how exceed- 
ingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. Sancho 
Panza alone thought that what his master said was 
the truth, knowing who he was and having been famil- 
iar with him from his birth, x^ll that he felt any diffi- 
culty in believing was that about the fair Dulcinea del 
Toboso, because neither any such name nor any such 
princess had ever come to his knowledge. They were 
going along conversing in this way, when they saw 
descending a gap between two high mountains some 
twenty shepherds, all. clad in sheepskins of black wool, 
and crowned with garlands which, as afterwards ap- 
peared, were, some of them of yew, some of cypress. 
Six of the number were carrying a bier covered with a 
great variety of flowers and branches, on seeing which 
one of the goatherds said, " Those who come there are 
the bearers of Chrysostom's body, and the foot of that 



94 Don Quixote 

mountain is the place where he ordered them to bury 
him. ,, They therefore made haste to reach the spot, 
and did so by the time those who came had laid the 
bier on the ground, and four of them with sharp pick- 
axes were digging a grave by the side of a hard rock. 
They greeted each other courteously, and then Don 
Quixote and those who accompanied him turned to 
examine the bier, and on it, covered with flowers, they 
saw a dead body in the' dress of a shepherd, to all ap- 
pearance of one thirty years of age, and showing even 
in death that in life he had been of comely features 
and gallant bearing. Around him on the bier itself 
were laid some books and several papers open and 
folded ; and those who were looking on as well as 
those who were opening the grave and all the others 
who were there preserved a strange silence, until one 
of those who had borne the body said to another, 
" Observe carefully, Ambrosio, if this is the place 
Chrysostom spoke of, since you are anxious that what 
he directed in his will should be so strictly complied 
with." 

"This is the place," answered Ambrosio, " for in it 
many a time did my poor friend tell me the story of 
his hard fortune. Here it was, he told me, that he 
saw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human 
race, and here, too, for the first time he declared to 
her his passion, and here it was that at last Marcela 
ended by scorning and rejecting him so as to bring the 
tragedy of his wretched life to a close ; here, in mem- 
ory of misfortunes so great, he desired to be laid in the 
bowels of eternal oblivion." Then turning to Don 



Chapter XI 95 

Quixote and the travellers he went on to say : " That 
body, sirs, on which you are looking with compas- 
sionate eyes, was the abode of a soul on which Heaven 
bestowed a vast share of its riches. That is the body 
of Chrysostom, who was unrivalled in wit, unequalled 
in courtesy, generous without limit, grave without ar- 
rogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in short, first in 
all that constitutes goodness and second to none in all 
that makes up misfortune." 

At this point Ambrosio was stopped by a marvellous 
vision (for such it seemed) that unexpectedly pre- 
sented itself to their eyes ; for on the summit of the 
rock where they were digging the grave there appeared 
the shepherdess Marcela, so beautiful that her beauty 
exceeded its reputation. Those who had never till 
then beheld her gazed on her in wonder and silence, 
and those who were accustomed to see her were not 
less amazed than those who had never seen her before. 
But the instant Ambrosio saw her he addressed her, 
with manifest indignation, " Art thou come, cruel basi- 
lisk of these mountains, to see if haply in thy pres- 
ence blood will flow from the wounds of this wretched 
being thy cruelty has robbed of life \ or is it to exult 
over the cruel work of thy humors that thou art come ? 
Tell us quickly what it is thou wouldst have, for, as I 
know the thoughts of Chrysostom never failed to obey 
thee in life, I will make all these who call themselves 
his friends obey thee, though he be dead." 

" I come not, Ambrosio, for any of the purposes 
thou hast named," replied Marcela, " but to defend 
myself and to prove how unreasonable are all those 



96 Don Quixote 

who blame me for their sorrow and for Chrysostom's 
death ; and therefore I ask all of you that are here to 
give me your attention, for it will not take much time 
or many words to bring the truth home to persons of 
sense. Heaven has made me, so you say, beautiful, 
and so much so that in spite of yourselves my beauty 
leads you to love me ; and for the love you show me 
you say, and even urge, that I am bound to love you. 
But I cannot see how that which is loved is bound to 
love that which loves it. True love, I have heard it 
said, must be voluntary and not compelled. If this 
be so, why do you desire me to bend my will by 
force, for no other reason but that you say you 
love me ? I was born free, and that I might live in 
freedom I chose the solitude of the fields ; in the trees 
of the mountains I find society, the clear waters of 
the brooks are my mirrors, and to the trees and waters 
I make known my thoughts and charms. I am a fire 
afar off, a sword laid aside. Those whom I have in- 
spired with love by letting them see me, I have by 
words undeceived, and if their longings live on hope 
— and I have given none to Chrysostom or to any 
other — it cannot justly be said that the death of any 
is my doing. If I had encouraged him, I should be 
false. He was persistent in spite of warning, he 
despaired without being hated. Bethink you now 
if it be reasonable that his suffering should be laid to 
my charge. It has not been so far the will of Heaven 
that I should love by fate, and to expect me to love 
by choice is idle. I have, as you know, wealth of my 
own, and I covet not that of others ; my taste is for 



Chapter XI 97 

freedom, and I have no relish for constraint ; I neither 
love nor hate any one ; I do not deceive this one or 
court that, or trifle with one or play with another. 
The modest converse of the shepherd girls of these 
hamlets and the care of my goats are my recreations; 
my desires are bounded by these mountains." 

With these words, and not waiting to hear a reply, 
she turned and passed into the thickest part of a wood 
that was hard by, leaving all who were there lost in 
admiration as much of her good sense as of her 
beauty. Some — those wounded by the irresistible 
shafts launched by her bright eyes — made as though 
they would follow her, heedless of the frank declara- 
tion they had heard ; seeing which, and deeming this 
a fitting occasion for the exercise of his chivalry in aid 
of distressed damsels, Don Quixote, laying his hand 
on the hilt of his sword, exclaimed in a loud and dis- 
tinct voice : — 

" Let no one, whatever his rank or condition, dare 
to follow the beautiful Marcela, under pain of incur- 
ring my fierce indignation. She has shown by clear 
and satisfactory arguments that little or no fault is to 
be found with her for the death of Chrysostom, and 
also how far she is from yielding to the wishes of any 
of her lovers, for which reason, instead of being fol- 
lowed and persecuted, she should injustice be honored 
and esteemed." 

Whether it was because of the threats of Don Qui- 
xote, 'or because Ambrosio told them to fulfil their duty 
to their good friend, none of the shepherds moved or 
stirred from the spot until, having finished the grave, 

H 



98 Don Quixote 

they laid Chrysostom's body in it, not without many 
tears from those who stood by. They closed the 
grave with a heavy stone until a slab was ready, and 
then strewed on the grave a profusion of flowers and 
branches, and all expressing their condolence with 
his friend Ambrosio, took their leave. Vivaldo and 
his companion did the same ; and Don Quixote bade 
farewell to his hosts and to the travellers, who pressed 
him to come with the-m to Seville, as being such a 
convenient place for finding adventures, for they pre- 
sented themselves in every street and round every 
corner oftener than anywhere else. Don Quixote 
thanked them for their advice and for the disposition 
they showed to do him a favor, and said that for the 
present he would not, and must not go to Seville until 
he had cleared all these mountains of highwaymen 
and robbers, of whom report said they were full. 
Seeing his good intention, the travellers were unwilling 
to press him further, and once more bidding him fare- 
well, they left him and pursued their journey. He, on 
his part, resolved to go in quest of the shepherdess 
Marcela, and make offer to her of all the service he 
could render her ; but things did not fall out with him 
as he expected. 



CHAPTER XII 

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE 
THAT DON QUIXOTE FELL IN WITH WHEN HE FELL 
OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS 

AS soon as Don Quixote took leave of his hosts 
and all who had been present at the burial 
of Chrysostom, he and his squire passed into 
the same wood which they had seen the shepherdess 
Marcela enter, and after having wandered for more 
than two hours in all directions in search for her with- 
out finding her, they came to a halt in a glade covered 
with tender grass, beside which ran a pleasant cool 
stream that invited and compelled them to pass there 
the hours of the noontide heat, which by this time was 
beginning to come on oppressively. Don Quixote 
and Sancho dismounted, and turning Rocinante "and 
the ass loose to feed on the grass that was there in 
abundance, they ransacked the alforjas, and without 
any ceremony very peacefully and sociably master and 
man made their repast on what they found in them. 
Sancho had not thought it worth while to hobble 
Rocinante. Chance, however, and. the devil, who is 
not always asleep, so ordained it that feeding in this 
valley there was a drove of ponies belonging to 
certain Yanguesan carriers, whose way it is to take 

99 



ioo Don Quixote 

their midday rest with their teams in places and spots 
where grass and water abound ; and that where Don 
Quixote chanced to be, suited the Yanguesans' purpose 
very well. It so happened, then, that Rocinante took 
a fancy to disport himself with their ponies, and aban- 
doning his usual gait and demeanor as he scented them, 
he, without asking leave of his master, got up a brisk- • 
ish little trot and hastened to them \ they, however, 
it seemed, preferred their pasture to him, and received 
him with their heels and teeth to such effect that they 
soon broke his girths and left him without a saddle to 
cover him ; but what must have been worse to him 
was that the carriers came running up armed with 
stakes, and so belabored him that they brought him 
sorely battered to the ground. 

By this time Don Quixote and Sancho, who had 
witnessed the drubbing of Rocinante, came up pant- 
ing, and said Don Quixote to Sancho, "So far as I 
can see, friend Sancho, these are not knights but base 
folk of low birth : I mention it because thou canst 
lawfully aid me in taking due vengeance for the insult 
offered to Rocinante before our eyes." 

" What vengeance can we take," answered Sancho, 
" if they are more than twenty, and we no more than 
two, or, indeed, perhaps not more than one and a 
half?" 

" I count for a hundred," replied Don Quixote, and 
without more words he drew his sword and attacked 
the Yanguesans, and incited and impelled by the 
example of his master, Sancho did the same. The 
Yanguesans, seeing themselves assaulted by only two 



Chapter XII 101 

men while they were so many, betook themselves to 
their stakes, and driving the two into the middle they 
began to lay on with great zeal and energy ; in fact, at 
the second blow they brought Sancho to the ground, 
and Don Quixote fared the same way, all his skill and 
high mettle availing him nothing, and fate willed it 
that he should fall at the feet of Rocinante, who had not 
yet risen ; whereby it may be seen how furiously stakes 
can pound in angry boorish hands. Then, seeing the 
mischief they had done, the Yanguesans with all the 
haste they could loaded their team and pursued their 
journey, leaving the two adventurers a sorry sight and 
in sorrier mood. 

Sancho was the first to come to, and finding him- 
self close to his master he called to him in a weak and 
doleful voice, "Sefior Don Quixote, ah, Sefior Don 
Quixote !" 

'•What wouldst thou, brother Sancho?" answered 
Don Quixote in the same feeble suffering tone as 
Sancho. 

"I would like, if it were possible," answered San- 
cho Panza, " your worship to give me a couple of sups 
of that potion of the fiery Bias, if it be that you have 
any to hand there ; perhaps it will serve for broken 
bones as well as for wounds." 

" If I only had it here, wretch that I am. what more 
should we want?" said Don Quixote; " but I swear 
to thee, Sancho Panza. on the faith of a knight-errant, 
ere two days are over, unless fortune orders otherwise, 
I mean to have it in my possession, or my hand will 
have lost its cunning." 



102 Don Ouixote 

"But in how many does your worship think we 
shall have the use of our feet?" answered Sancho 
Panza. 

"For myself I must say I cannot guess how many," 
said the battered knight Don Quixote; "but I take 
all the blame on myself, for I had no business to put 
hand to sword against men who were not dubbed 
knights like myself, and so I believe that in punish- 
ment for having transgressed the laws of chivalry the 
God of battles has permitted this chastisement to be 
administered to me ; for which reason, brother San- 
cho, it is well thou shouldst receive a hint on the 
matter which I am now about to mention to thee. 
It is that when thou shalt see rabble of this sort offer- 
ing us insult thou art not to wait till I draw sword 
against them, for I shall not do so at all ; but do thou 
draw sword and chastise them to thy heart's content, 
and if any knights come to their aid and defence I 
will take care to defend thee and assail them with all 
my might ; and thou hast already seen by a thousand 
signs and proofs what the might of this strong arm of 
mine is equal to." 

But Sancho did not so fully approve of his master's 
admonition as to let it pass without spying in reply, 
" Senor, I am a man of peace, meek and quiet, and I 
can put up with any affront because I have a wife and 
children to support and bring up ; so let it be likewise 
a hint to your worship, that on no account will I draw 
sword either against clown or against knight, and that 
here before God I forgive all the insults that have 
been offered me or may be offered me, whether they 



Chapter XII 103 

have been, are, or shall be offered me by high or low, 
rich or poor, noble or commoner, not excepting any 
rank or condition whatsoever." 

To all which his master said in reply, " I wish I had 
breath enough to speak somewhat easily, and that the 
pain I feel on this side would abate so as to let me 
explain to thee, Panza, the mistake thou makest. 
Come now, sinner, suppose the wind of fortune, 
hitherto so adverse, should turn in our favor, filling 
the sails of our desires so that safely and without 
impediment we put into port in some one of those 
islands I have promised thee, how would it be with 
thee if on winning it I made thee lord of it? Thou 
must know that in newly conquered kingdoms and 
provinces the minds of the inhabitants are never so 
quiet nor so well disposed to the new lord that there is 
no fear of their making some move to change matters 
once more, so it is essential that the new possessor 
should have good sense to enable him to govern, and 
valor to attack and defend himself, whatever may be- 
fall him." 

"In what has now befallen us," answered Sancho, 
" I'd have been well pleased to have that good sense 
and that valor your worship speaks of, but I swear on 
the faith of a poor man I am more fit for plasters than 
for arguments. See if your worship can get up, and 
let us help Rocinante, though he does not deserve it, 
for he was the main cause of all this thrashing. I 
never thought it of Rocinante, for I took him to be 
a virtuous person and as quiet as myself. After all, 
they say right that it takes a long time to come to 



104 Don Quixote 

know people, and that there is nothing sure in this 
life. Who would have said that, after such mighty 
slashes as your worship gave that unlucky knight- 
errant, there was coming, travelling post and at the 
very heels of them, such a great storm of sticks as 
has fallen on our shoulders?" 

"And yet thine, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, 
" ought to be used to such squalls ; but mine, reared 
in soft cloth and fine linen, it is plain they must feel 
more keenly the pain of this mishap, and if it were 
not that I know of a certainty that all these annoy- 
ances are very necessary accompaniments of the call- 
ing of arms, I would lay me down here to die of pure 
vexation." 

To this the squire replied, " Senor, as these mishaps 
are what one reaps of chivalry, tell me if they happen 
very often, or if they have their own fixed times for 
coming to pass ; because it seems to me that after two 
harvests we shall be no good for the third, unless God 
in his infinite mercy helps us." 

"Know, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote, 
"that the life of knights-errant is subject to a thou- 
sand dangers and reverses, and neither more nor less 
is it within immediate possibility for knights- errant 
to become kings and emperors, as experience has 
shown in the case of many different knights with 
whose histories I am thoroughly acquainted ; pluck 
strength out of weakness, Sancho, as I mean to do," 
continued Don Quixote, "and let us see how Roci- 
nante is, for it seems to me that not the least share 
of this mishap has fallen to the lot of the poor beast." 



Chapter XII 105 

"There is nothing wonderful in that/' replied San- 
cho, " since he is a knight-errant too ; what I wonder 
at is that my beast should have come off scot-free 
where we come out scorched." 

rt Fortune always leaves a door open in adversity in 
order to bring relief to it/' said Don Quixote ; " I say 
so because this little beast may now supply the want 
of Rocinante, carrying me hence to some castle where 
I may be cured of my wounds. And moreover I shall 
not hold it any dishonor to be so mounted, for I re- 
member having read how the good old Silenus, the 
tutor and instructor of the gay god of laughter, when 
he entered the city of the hundred gates, went very 
contentedly mounted on a handsome ass." 

" It may be true that he went mounted as your wor- 
ship says/' answered Sancbo, " but there is a great 
difference between going mounted and going slung 
like a sack of manure." 

To which Don Quixote replied : " Wounds received 
in battle confer honor instead of taking it away ; and 
so, friend Panza, say no more, but, as I told thee 
before, get up as well as thou canst and put me on 
top of thy beast in whatever fashion pleases thee best, 
and let us go hence ere night come on and surprise 
us in these wilds." 

" And yet I have heard your worship say," observed 
Panza, " that it is very meet for knights-errant to sleep 
in wastes and deserts the best part of the year, and 
that they esteem it very good fortune." 

"That is," said Don Quixote, "when they cannot 
help it, or when they are in love ; and so true is this 



106 Don Quixote 

that there have been knights who have remained two 
years on rocks, in sunshine and shade and all the in- 
clemencies of heaven, without their ladies knowing 
anything of it." 

Sancho, now letting off thirty " ohs," and sixty 
sighs, and a hundred and twenty maledictions and 
execrations on whomsoever it was that had brought 
him there, raised himself, stopping half-way bent like 
a Turkish bow without power to bring himself upright, 
but with all his pains he saddled his ass ; he next 
raised up Rocinante, and as for him, had he possessed 
a tongue to complain with, most assuredly neither 
Sancho nor his master would have excelled him in 
complaints. To be brief, Sancho fixed Don Quixote 
on the ass and secured Rocinante with a leading rein, 
and taking the ass by the halter, he proceeded more 
or less in the direction in which it seemed to him the 
high-road might be ; and, as chance was conducting 
their affairs for them from good to better, he had not 
gone a short league when the road came in sight, and 
on it he perceived an inn, which to his annoyance and 
to the delight of Don Quixote must needs be a castle. 
Sancho insisted that it was an inn, and his master that 
it was not one, but a castle, and the dispute lasted so 
long that before the point was settled they had time 
to reach it, and into it Sancho entered with all his 
team, without any further controversy. 



CHAPTER XIII 

OF WHAT THE BRAVE DON QUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD 
SQUIRE SANCHO PAXZA ENDURED AT THE INN WHICH 
TO HIS MISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE 

THE innkeeper, seeing Don Quixote slung across 
the ass, asked Sancho what was amiss with him. 
Sancho answered that it was nothing, only that 
he had fallen down from a rock and had his ribs a 
little bruised. The innkeeper had a wife whose dis- 
position was not such as those of her calling commonly 
have, for she was by nature kind-hearted and felt for 
the sufferings of her neighbors, so she at once set 
about tending Don Quixote, and made her young 
daughter help her in taking care of her guest. There 
was besides in the inn, as servant, an Asturian lass with 
a broad face, flat poll, and snub nose, blind of one eye, 
and not very sound in the other. This lass — Mari- 
tornes by name — helped the young girl, and the two 
made up a very bad bed for Don Quixote in a garret 
that showed evident signs of having formerly served 
for many years as a straw-loft. Don Quixote's couch 
consisted simply of four rough boards on two not very 
even trestles, a mattress, that for thinness might have 
passed for a quilt, full of pellets which, were they not 
seen through the rents to be wool, would to the touch 

107 



108 Don Quixote 

have seemed pebbles in hardness, two sheets made 
of buckler leather, and a coverlet the threads of which 
any one that chose might have counted without miss- 
ing one in the reckoning. 

On this accursed bed Don Quixote stretched him- 
self, and close beside it Sancho made his, which was 
merely composed of a rush mat and a blanket. 

Sancho strove to sleep but the pain oi his ribs 
would not let him. whil-e Don Quixote with the pain 
of his had his eyes as wide open as a hare's. The 
inn was all in silence, and in the whole of it there was 
no light except that given by a lantern that hung burn- 
ing in the middle of the gateway. 

Thus the night passed till at the approach of morn- 
ing Don Quixote said : " Rise, Sancho, if thou canst, 
and call the alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give 
me a little oil. wine, salt, and rosemary to make the 
salutiferous balsam, of which I have told thee, for 
indeed I believe I have great need of it." 

Sancho got up with pain enough in his bone-, and 
went after the innkeeper, and meeting him just aris- 
ing, he said to him, u Senor, do us the favor and kind- 
ness to give us a little rose man', oil, salt, and wine, for 
it is wanted to cure one of the best knights- errant on 
earth, who lies on yonder bed sorely wounded.' 5 

As day was now beginning to break, the host fur- 
nished him with what he required, and Sancho brought 
it to Don Quixote, who, with his hand to his head, was 
bewailing his sufferings. To be brief, he took the ma- 
terials, of which he made a compound, mixing them 
all and boiling them a good while until it seemed to 



Chapter XIII 109 

him they had come to perfection. He then asked for 
some vial to pour it into, and as there was not one in 
the inn, he decided on putting it into a flask of which 
the host made him a free gift : and over the flask he 
repeated more than eighty paternosters and as many 
ave-marias, and credos, accompanying each word with 
a cross by way of benediction, at all which there were 
present Sancho and the innkeeper. 

This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make 
trial himself, on the spot, of the virtue of this precious 
balsam, as he considered it, and so he drank near a 
quart of what could not be put into the flask and re- 
mained in the pipkin in which it had been boiled ; but 
scarcely had he done drinking when he began to vomit 
in such a way that nothing was left in his stomach, and 
with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke into 
a profuse sweat, on account of which he bade them 
cover him up and leave him alone. They did so, and 
he lay sleeping more than three hours, at the end of 
which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief and so 
much ease from his bruises that he thought himself 
quite cured, and verily believed he had hit on the bal- 
sam of Fierabras ; and that with this remedy he might 
thenceforward, without any fear, face any kind of de- 
struction, battle or combat, however perilous it might 
be. 

Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of 
his master as miraculous, begged him to give him what 
was left in the pipkin, which was no small quantity. 
Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with both 
hands, in good faith and with a better will, gulped 



no Don Quixote 

down and drained off very little less than his master. 
But the fact is, that the stomach of poor Sancho was 
of necessity not so delicate as that of his master, and 
so, before vomiting, he was seized with such gripings 
and retchings, and such sweats and faintness that verily 
and truly he believed his last hour had come, and find- 
ing himself so racked and tormented he cursed the 
balsam and the thief that had given it to him. 

Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, " It is my 
belief, Sancho, that this mischief comes of thy not 
being dubbed a knight, for I am persuaded this liquor 
cannot be good for those who are not so," 

"If your worship knew that," returned Sancho, — 
" woe betide me and all my kindred ! — why did you 
let me taste it?" 

At this moment the draught took effect, and the 
poor squire sweated and perspired with such parox- 
ysms and convulsions that not only he himself but all 
present thought his end had come. This tempest and ' 
tribulation lasted about two hours, at the end of which 
he was left, not like his master, but so weak and ex- 
hausted that he could not stand. Don Quixote, how- 
ever, who, as has been said, felt himself relieved and 
well, was eager to take his departure at once in quest 
of adventures, as it seemed to him that all the time he 
loitered there was a fraud on the world and those in 
it who stood in need of his help and protection, all the 
more when he had the security and confidence his bal- 
sam afforded him ; and so, urged by this impulse, he 
saddled Rocinante himself and put the pack-saddle on 
his squire's beast, whom likewise he helped to dress 



Chapter XIII in 

and mount the ass ; after which he mounted his horse 
and turning to a corner of the inn he laid hold of a 
pike that stood there, to serve him by way of a lance. 
All that were in the inn, who were more than twenty 
persons, stood watching him. 

As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of 
the inn, he called to the host and said in a very grave 
and measured voice, " Many and great are the favors, 
Senor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of 
yours, and I remain under the deepest obligation to be 
grateful to you for them all the days of my life ; if I 
can repay them in avenging you of any arrogant foe 
who may have wronged you, know that my calling is 
no other than to aid the weak, to avenge those who 
suffer wrong, and chastise perfidy. Search your mem- 
ory, and if you find anything of this kind you need 
only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of 
knighthood which I have received to procure you sat- 
isfaction and reparation to the utmost of your desire." 

The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, 
" Sir Knight, I do not want your worship to avenge 
me of any wrong, because when any is done me I can 
take what vengeance seems good to me ; the only 
thing I want is that you pay me the score that you 
have run up in the inn last night, as well for the straw 
and barley for your two beasts, as for supper and beds." 

"Then this is an inn? " said Don Quixote. 

"And a very respectable one," said the innkeeper. 

" I 'have been under a mistake all this time," an- 
swered Don Quixote, " for in truth I thought it was a 
castle, and not a bad one ; but since it appears that 



112 Don Quixote 

it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now 
is that you should excuse the payment, for I cannot 
contravene the rule of knights-errant, of whom I know 
as a fact (and up to the present I have read nothing 
to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or 
anything else in the inn where they might be ; for any 
hospitality that might be offered them is their due by 
law and right in return for the insufferable toil they 
endure in seeking adventures by night and by day, 
summer and winter, on foot and on horseback, in 
hunger and thirst, cold and heat, exposed to all the 
inclemencies of heaven and all the hardships of earth/' 

" I have little to do with that," replied the inn- 
keeper ; "pay me what you owe me, and let us have 
no more talk of chivalry, for all I care about is to get 
to my money." 

"You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper," said Don 
Quixote, and putting spurs to Rocinante and bringing 
his pike to the slope he rode out of the inn before 
any one could stop him, and pushed on some distance 
without looking to see if his squire was following him. 

The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying 
him ran to get payment of Sancho, who said that as 
his master would not pay neither would he, because, 
being as he was squire to a knight-errant, the same 
rule and reason held good for him as for his master 
with regard to not paying anything in inns and hos- 
telries. At this the innkeeper waxed very wroth, and 
threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way 
that he would not like. To which Sancho made an- 
swer that by the law of chivalry his master had re- 



h %, ik 




TOSSING SANCHO IX A BLANKET 



Chapter XIII 113 

ceived he would not pay a rap, though it cost him 
his life ; for the excellent and ancient usage of knights- 
errant was not going to be violated by him, nor should 
the squires of such as were yet to come into the world 
ever complain of him or reproach him with breaking 
so just a law. 

The ill luck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it 
that among the company in the inn there were four 
wool-carders from Segovia, three needle-makers from 
Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair of Seville, 
lively fellows, tender hearted, fond of a joke, and 
playful, who, almost as if instigated and moved by a 
common impulse, made up to Sancho and dismounted 
him from his ass, while one of them went in for the 
blanket of the host's bed ; but on flinging him into it 
they looked up, and seeing that the ceiling was some- 
what lower than what they required for their work, 
they decided on going out into the yard, which was 
bounded by the sky, and there, putting Sancho in the 
middle of the blanket, they began to make sport with 
him. 

The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so 
loud that they reached the ears of his master, who, 
halting to listen attentively, was persuaded that some 
new adventure was coming, until he clearly perceived 
that it was his squire who uttered them. Wheeling 
about he came up to the inn with a laborious gallop, 
and finding it shut went round to see if he could find 
some way of getting in ■ but as soon as he came to 
the wall of the yard, which was not very high, he dis- 
covered the game that was being played with his 
1 



H4 Don Quixote 

squire. He saw him rising and falling in the air with 
such grace and nimbleness that, had his rage allowed 
him, it is my belief he would have laughed. He tried to 
climb from his horse on to the top of the wall, but he 
was so bruised and battered that he could not even 
dismount ; and so from the back of his horse he be- 
gan to utter such maledictions and objurgations against 
those who were blanketing Sancho as it would be im- 
possible to write down accurately : they, however, did 
not stay their laughter or their work for this nor did 
the flying Sancho cease his lamentations, mingled now 
with threats, now with entreaties, until from pure 
weariness they left off. They then brought him his 
ass, and mounting him on top of it they put his jacket 
round him ; and the compassionate Maritornes, see- 
ing him so exhausted, thought fit to refresh him with 
a jug of water, and that it might be all the cooler she 
fetched it from the well. Sancho took it, and as he 
was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries 
of his master exclaiming, " Sancho, my son, drink not 
water ; drink it not, my son, for it will kill thee ; see, 
here I have the blessed balsam (and he held up the 
flask of liquor), and with drinking two drops of it 
thou wilt certainly be restored." 

At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and 
in a still louder voice said, " Can it be your worship 
has forgotten that I am not a knight, or do you want 
me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left 
after last night ? Keep your liquor in the name of all 
the devils, and leave me to myself! " and at one and 
the same instant he left off talking and began drinking. 



Chapter XIII 115 

When Sancho had done he dug his heels into his ass 
and the gate of the inn being thrown open he passed 
out very well pleased at having paid nothing and car- 
ried his point, though it had been at the expense of 
his shoulders. It is true that the innkeeper detained 
his alforjas in payment of what was owing to him, but 
Sancho took his departure in such a flurry that he 
never missed them. The innkeeper, as soon as he 
saw him off, wanted to bar the gate close, but the 
blanketers would not agree to it, for they were fellows 
who would not have cared two farthings for Don 
Quixote, even had he been really one of the knights- 
errant of the Round Table. 



CHAPTER XIV 

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA 
HELD WITH HIS MASTER, DON QUIXOTE, TOGETHER 
WITH OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING 

SANCHO reached his master so limp and faint 
that he could not urge on his beast. When 
Don Quixote saw the state he was in he said : 
" I have now come to the conclusion, good Sancho, 
that this castle or inn is beyond a doubt enchanted, 
because those who have so atrociously diverted them- 
selves with thee, what can they be but phantoms or 
beings of another world? and I hold this confirmed 
by having noticed that when I was by the wall of the 
yard witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, it was out 
of my power to mount on it, nor could I even dis- 
mount from Rocinante, because they no doubt had me 
enchanted ; for I swear to thee by the faith of what I 
am that if I had been able to climb up or dismount, 
I would have avenged thee in such a way that those 
braggart thieves would have remembered their freak 
forever, even though in so doing I knew that I con- 
travened the laws of chivalry." 

" I would have avenged myself too if I could," said 
Sancho, " whether I had been dubbed knight or not, 
but I could not ; though for my part I am persuaded 
those who amused themselves with me were not phan- 

116 



Chapter XIV 117 

toms or enchanted men, as your worship says, but men 
of flesh and bone like ourselves ; and they all had their 
names, for I heard them name them when they were 
tossing me ; so that, senor, your not being able to leap 
over the wall of the yard or dismount from your horse 
came of something else besides enchantments ; and 
what I make out clearly from all this is, that these 
adventures we go seeking will in the end lead us into 
such misadventures that we shall not know which is 
our right foot ; and that the best and wisest thing, 
according to my small wits, would be for us to return 
home, now that it is harvest-time, and attend to our 
business, and give over wandering from pail to bucket, 
as the saying is." 

" How little thou knowest about chivalry, Sancho," 
replied Don Quixote ; " hold thy peace and have 
patience ; the day will come when thou shalt see 
with thine own eyes what an honorable thing it is to 
wander in the pursuit of this calling ; nay, tell me, 
what greater pleasure can there be in the world, or 
what delight can equal that of winning a battle, and 
triumphing over one's enemy? None, beyond all 
doubt." 

"Very likely," answered Sancho, " though I do not 
know it ; all I know is that since we have been 
knights-errant, we have never won any battle except 
the one with the Biscayan, and even out of that your 
worship came with half an ear and half a helmet the 
less; and from that till now it has been all cudgel- 
lings and more cudgellings, cuffs and more cuffs, I 
getting the blanketing over and above." 



1 1 8 Don Quixote 

"Fear not, Sancho." said Don Quixote: "Heaven 
will deal better by thee." 

Thus talking, Don Quixote and his squire were 
going along, when, on the road they were following, 
Don Quixote perceived approaching them a large and 
thick cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned to 
Sancho and said, "This is the day, O Sancho, on 
which will be seen the boon my fortune is reserving 
for me ; this, I say, is. the day on which as much as 
on any other shall be displayed the might of my arm 
and on which I shall do deeds that shall remain written 
in the book of fame for all ages to come. Seest thou 
that cloud of dust which rises yonder? Well, then, 
all that is churned up by a vast army composed of 
various and countless nations that comes marching 
there." 

" According to that there must be two," said Sancho, 
" for on this opposite side also there rises just such 
another cloud of dust." 

Don Quixote turned to look and found that it was 
true, and rejoicing exceedingly, he concluded that they 
were two armies about to engage and encounter in the 
midst of that broad plain ; for at all times and seasons 
his fancy was full of the battles, enchantments, advent- 
ures, crazy feats, loves, and defiances that are recorded 
in the books of chivalry, and everything he said, thought, 
or did had reference to such things. Now the cloud 
of dust he had seen was raised by two great droves of 
sheep coming along the same road in opposite direc- 
tions, which, because of the dust, did not become visi- 
ble until they drew near, but Don Quixote asserted so 



Chapter XIV 119 

positively that they were armies that Sancho was led 
to believe it and say, " Well, and what are we to do, 
senor? " 

"What?" said Don Quixote : "give aid and assist- 
ance to the weak and those who need it ; and thou 
must know, Sancho, that this which comes opposite 
to us is conducted and led by the mighty emperor 
Alifanfaron, lord of the great isle of Trapobana ; this 
other that marches behind me is that of his enemy the 
king of the Garamantas, Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, 
for he always goes into battle with his right arm bare." 

" But why are these two lords such enemies ? " asked 
Sancho. 

"They are at enmity," replied Don Quixote, "be- 
cause this Alifanfaron is a furious pagan and is in love 
with the daughter of Pentapolin, who is a very beauti- 
ful and moreover gracious lady, and a Christian, and 
her father is unwilling to bestow her on the pagan 
king unless he first abandons the religion of his false 
prophet Mahomet, and adopts his own." 

"By my beard," said Sancho, "but Pentapolin does 
quite right, and I will help him as much as I can." 

"In that thou wilt do what is thy duty, Sancho," 
said Don Quixote; "for to engage in battles of this 
sort it is not requisite to be a dubbed knight." 

"That I can well understand," answered Sancho; 
"but where shall we put this ass where we may be 
sure to find him after the fray is over? for I believe it 
has not been the custom so far to go into battle on a 
beast of this kind." 

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "'and what you 



120 Don Quixote 

had best do with him is to leave him to take his 
chance whether he be lost or not, for the horses we 
shall have when we come out victors will be so many 
that even Rocinante will run a risk of being changed 
for another. But attend to me and observe, for I 
wish to give thee some account of the chief knights 
who accompany these two armies ; and that thou 
mayest the better see and mark, let us withdraw to 
that hillock which rises yonder, whence both armies 
may be seen." 

They did so, and placed themselves on a rising 
ground from which the two droves that Don Quixote 
made armies of might have been plainly seen if the 
clouds of dust they raised had not obscured them and 
blinded the sight ; nevertheless, seeing in his imagina- 
tion what he did not see and what did not exist, he 
began thus in a loud voice : " That knight whom thou 
seest yonder in yellow armor, who bears on his shield 
a lion crowned crouching at the feet of a damsel, is 
the valiant Laurcalco, lord of the Silver Bridge : that 
one in armor with flowers of gold, who bears en his 
shield three crowns argent on an azure field, is the 
dreaded Micocolembo, grand duke of Quirocia ; that 
other of gigantic frame, on his right hand, is the ever 
dauntless Brandabarbaran de Boliche, lord of the three 
Arabias, who for armor wears that serpent skin, and 
has for shield a gate which, according to tradition, 
is one of those of the temple that Samson brought to 
the ground when by his death he revenged himself on 
his enemies." And so he went on naming a number 
of knights of one squadron or the other out of his 



Chapter XIV 121 

imagination, and to all he assigned off-hand their arms, 
colors, devices, and mottoes, carried away by the illu- 
sions of his unheard-of craze ; and without a pause, he 
continued : " People of divers nations compose this 
squadron in front ; here are those that drink of the 
sweet waters of the famous Xanthus, those that scour 
the woody Massilian plains, those that sift the pure 
fine gold of Arabia, those that enjoy the cool banks of 
the crystal Thermodon, the Numidians faithless in 
their promises, the Persians renowned in archery, the 
Parthians and the Medes that fight as they fly, the 
Scythians as cruel as they are fair, the Ethiopians with 
pierced lips, and an infinity of other nations whose 
features I recognize and descry, though I cannot recall 
their names." 

Sancho Panza hung on his words without speaking, 
and from time to time turned to try if he could see 
the knights and giants his master was describing, and 
as he could not make out one of them he said to him, 
" Seiior, perdition take it if there's a sign of any man 
you talk of, knight or giant, in the whole thing ; maybe 
it's all enchantment." 

" How canst thou say that ! " answered Don Qui- 
xote ; " dost thou not hear the neighing of the steeds, 
the braying of the trumpets, the roll of the drums?" 

" I hear nothing but a great bleating of ewes and 
sheep," said Sancho ; w T hich was true, for by this time 
the two flocks had come close. 

"The fear thou art in, Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
" prevents thee from seeing or hearing correctly, for 
one of the effects of fear is to derange the senses and 



122 Don Quixote 

make things appear different from what they are ; if 
thou art in such fear, withdraw to one side and leave 
me to myself, for alone I suffice to bring victory to 
that side to which I shall give my aid ; " and so saying 
he gave Rocinante the spur, and, putting the lance in 
rest, shot down the slope like a thunderbolt. 

Sancho shouted after him, crying, " Come back, 
Sefior Don Quixote ] I vow to God they are sheep 
and ewes you are charging ! Come back ! what mad- 
ness is this ! Look, there is no giant, nor knight, nor 
cats, nor arms, nor shields quartered or whole, nor 
cups azure or bedeviled. What are you about? Sin- 
ner that I am before God ! " 

But not for all these entreaties did Don Quixote 
turn back ; on the contrary he went on shouting out. 
" Ho, knights, ye who follow and fight under the 
banners of the valiant emperor Pentapolin of the 
Bare Arm, follow me all ; ye shall see how easily I shall 
give him his revenge over his enemy Alifanfaron of 
Trapobana." 

So saying, he dashed into the midst of the squadron 
of ewes, and began spearing them with as much spirit 
and intrepidity as if he were transfixing mortal enemies 
in earnest The shepherds and drovers accompanying 
the flock shouted to him to desist ; but, seeing it was 
no use, they ungirt their slings and began to salute his 
ears with stones as big as one's fist. Don Quixote 
gave no heed to the stones, but, letting drive right 
and left, kept saying, "'Where art thou, proud Alifan- 
faron? Come before me; I am a single knight who 
would fain prove thy prowess hand to hand, and make 



Chapter XIV 123 

thee yield thy life a penalty for the wrong thou dost 
to the valiant Pentapolin Garamanta." 

Here came a sugar-plum from the brook that struck 
him on the side. Feeling himself so smitten, he im- 
agined himself slain or badly wounded for certain, and, 
recollecting his liquor he drew out his flask, and put- 
ting it to his mouth began to pour the contents into 
his stomach ; but ere he had succeeded in swallowing 
what seemed to him enough, there came another 
almond which struck him on the hand and on the 
flask so fairly that it smashed it to pieces, knocking 
three or four teeth and grinders out of his mouth in 
its course, and sorely crushing two fingers of his hand. 
Such was the force of the first blow and of the second, 
that the poor knight in spite of himself came down 
backwards off his horse. The shepherds ran up, and 
felt sure they had killed him • so in all haste they 
collected their flock together, took up the dead beasts, 
of which there were more than seven, and made off 
without waiting to ascertain anything further. 

All this time Sancho stood on the hill watching the 
crazy feats his master was performing, and tearing his 
beard and cursing the hour and the occasion when 
fortune had made him acquainted with him. Seeing 
him. then, brought to the ground, and that the shep- 
herds had taken themselves off, he came down the hill 
and ran to him and found him in very bad case, though 
not unconscious ; and said he, " Did I not tell you to 
come back. Senor Don Quixote ; and that what you 
were going to attack were not armies, but droves of 
sheep?" 



124 Don Quixote 

"That's how that thief of a sage, my enemy, can 
alter and falsify things," answered Don Quixote; 
"thou must know, Sancho, that it is a very easy 
matter for those of his sort to make us take what 
form they choose ; and this malignant being who 
persecutes me, envious of the glory he knew I was 
to win in this battle, has turned the squadrons of the 
enemy into droves of sheep. At any rate, do this 
much, I beg of thee, -Sancho, to undeceive thyself, 
and see that what I say is true ; mount thy ass and 
follow them quietly, and thou shalt see that when they 
have gone some little distance from this they will re- 
turn to their original shape and, ceasing to be sheep, 
become men in all respects as I described them to 
thee at first. But go not just yet, for I want thy help 
and assistance ; come hither and see how many of my 
teeth and grinders are missing, for I feel as if there 
was not one left in my mouth." 

Sancho came so close that he almost put his eyes 
into his mouth ; now just at that moment the balsam 
had acted on the stomach of Don Quixote, so, at the 
very instant when Sancho came to examine his mouth, 
he discharged all its contents with more force than a 
musket, and full into the beard of the compassionate 
squire. 

"Holy Mary!" cried Sancho, "what is this that 

has happened to me ? Clearly this sinner is mortally 
wounded." 

Sancho ran to his ass to get something wherewith 
to relieve his master, out of his alforjas ; but, not find- 
ing them, he well-nigh took leave of his senses, and 



Chapter XIV 125 

cursed himself anew, and in his heart resolved to quit 
his master and return home, even though he forfeited 
the wages of his service and all hopes of the govern- 
ment of the promised island. 

Don Quixote now rose, and, putting his left hand to 
his mouth to keep his teeth from falling out altogether, 
with the other he laid hold of the bridle of Rocinante, 
who had never stirred from his master's side — so loyal 
and well-behaved was he — and betook himself to where 
the squire stood leaning over his ass with his hand to 
his cheek, like one in deep dejection. Seeing him in 
this mood, looking so sad, Don Quixote said to him, 
" Bear in mind, Sancho, that one man is no more than 
another, unless he does more than another ; all these 
tempests that fall on us are signs that fair weather is 
coming shortly, and that things will go well with us, 
for it is impossible for good or evil to last forever ; 
and hence it follows that, the evil having lasted long, 
the good must be now nigh at hand; so thou must 
not distress thyself at the misfortunes which happen 
to me, since thou hast no share in them." 

"How have I not?" replied Sancho; "was he 
whom they blanketed yesterday perchance any other 
than my father's son? and the alforjas that are miss- 
ing to-day with all my treasures, did they belong to 
any other but myself ? " 

"What! are the alforjas missing, Sancho?" said 
Don Quixote. 

"Yes, they are missing," answered Sancho. 

"In that case we have nothing to eat to-day," 
replied Don Quixote. 



126 



Don Quixote 



" It would be so," answered Sancho, " if there were 
none of the herbs your worship says you know in these 
meadows, those with which knights-errant as unlucky 
as your worship are wont to supply such-like short- 
comings." 

"For all that," answered Don Quixote, "I would 
rather have just now a loaf of bread, than all the herbs 
described by Dioscorides. Nevertheless, Sancho the 
Good, mount thy beast and come along with me, for 
God, who provides for all things, will not fail us (more 
especially when we are so active in his service as we 
are), since he fails not the midges of the air, nor the 
grubs of the earth, nor the tadpoles of the water, and 
is so merciful that he maketh his sun to rise on the 
evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and 
on the unjust." 

" Your worship would make a better preacher than 
knight-errant," said Sancho. 

" Knights-errant knew and ought to know every- 
thing, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "for there were 
knights- errant in former times as well qualified to de- 
liver a sermon or discourse in the middle of a high- 
way, as if they had graduated in the University of 
Paris." 

"Well, be it as your worship says," replied Sancho ; 
" let us be off now and find some place of shelter for 
the night, and God grant it may be somewhere where 
there are no blankets, nor blanketeers, nor phantoms, 
nor enchanted Moors ; for if there are, may the devil 
take the whole concern." 

"Ask that of God, my son," said Don Quixote; 



Chapter XIV 127 

" and do thou lead on where thou wilt, for this time I 
leave our lodging to thy choice. Mount, friend, and 
lead the way, and I will follow thee at whatever pace 
thou wilt." 

Sancho did as he bade him, and proceeded in the 
direction in which he thought he might find refuge 
without quitting the high-road, which was there very 
much frequented. 



CHAPTER XV 

OF THE ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE INGENIOUS 
GENTLEMAN WITH A DEAD BODY, TOGETHER WITH 
OTHER NOTABLE OCCURRENCES 

N h IGHT overtook Don Quixote and Sancho on the 
road before they had reached or discovered any 
place of shelter j and what made it still worse 
was that they were dying of hunger, for with the loss 
of the alforjas they had lost their entire larder and 
commissariat. It so happened that the night closed 
in somewhat darkly, but for all that they pushed on, 
Sancho feeling sure that as the road was the king's 
highway they might reasonably expect to find some 
inn within a league or two. Going along, then, in 
this way, the night dark, the squire hungry, the master 
sharp-set, they saw coming towards them on the road 
they were travelling a great number of lights which 
looked exactly like stars in motion. Sancho was 
taken aback at the sight of them, nor did Don Quixote 
altogether relish them : the one pulled up his ass by 
the halter, the other his hack by the bridle, and they 
stood still, watching anxiously to see what all this 
would turn out to be, and found that the lights were 
approaching them, and the nearer they came the 
greater they seemed, at which spectacle Sancho began 

128 



Chapter XV 129 

to shake, and Don Quixote's hair stood on end; he, 
however, plucking up spirit a little, said, "This, no 
doubt, Sancho, will be a most mighty and perilous 
adventure, in which it will be needful for me to put 
forth all my valor and resolution. " 

"Unlucky me ! " answered Sancho; " if this adven- 
ture happens to be one of phantoms, as I am begin- 
ning to think it is, where shall I find the ribs to 
bear it?" 

"Be they phantoms ever so much," said Don 
Quixote, " I will not permit them to touch a thread 
of thy garments; for if they played tricks with thee 
the time before, it was because I was unable to leap 
the walls of the yard; but now we are on a wide 
plain, where I shall be able to wield my sword as I 
please." 

"And if they enchant and cripple you as they did 
the last time," said Sancho, "what difference will it 
make being on the open plain or not? " 

"For all that," replied Don Quixote, "I entreat 
thee, Sancho, to keep a good heart." 

"I will, please God," answered Sancho, and the 
two retiring to one side of the road set themselves to 
observe closely what all these moving lights might be; 
and very soon afterward they made out some twenty 
encamisados, 1 all on horseback, with lighted torches 
in their hands, the awe-inspiring aspect of whom 
completely extinguished the courage of Sancho, who 
began to chatter with his teeth like one in the cold fit 

1 E?ic amis ados : a burial party wearing white robes over their 
ordinary clothing. 
K 



130 Don Quixote 

of an ague; and his heart sank and his teeth chattered 
still more when they perceived distinctly that behind 
them there came a litter covered over with black and 
followed by six more mounted figures in mourning 
down to the very feet of their mules — for they could 
perceive plainly they were not horses by the easy pace 
at which they went. And as the encamisados came 
along they muttered to themselves in a low plain- 
tive tone. This strange spectacle at such an hour 
and in such a solitary place was quite enough to 
stimulate Don Quixote's imagination which imme- 
diately conjured up all this to him vividly as one of 
the adventures of his books. He took it into his 
head that the litter was a bier on which was borne 
some sorely wounded or slain knight, to avenge whom 
was a task reserved for him alone; and without any 
further reasoning he laid his lance in rest, fixed him- 
self firmly in his saddle, and with gallant spirit and 
bearing took up his position in the middle of the 
road where the encamisados must of necessity pass; 
and as soon as he saw them near at hand he raised 
his voice and said, " Halt, knights, whosoever ye may 
be, and render me account of who ye are, whence ye 
come, what it is ye carry on that bier, for, to judge 
by appearances, either ye have done some wrong or 
some wrong has been done to you, and it is fitting 
and necessary that I should know, either that I may 
chastise you for the evil ye have done, or else that I 
may avenge you for the injury that has been inflicted 
on you." 

"We are in haste," answered one of the encami- 



Chapter XV 131 

sados, " and the inn is far off, and we cannot stop to 
render you such an account as you demand; " and 
spurring his mule he moved on. 

Don Quixote was mightily provoked by this answer, 
and seizing the mule by the bridle he said, "Halt, 
and be more mannerly, and render an account of what 
I have asked of you; else, take my defiance to com- 
bat, all of you." 

The mule was shy, and was so frightened at her 
bridle being seized that rearing up she flung her rider 
to the ground over her haunches. An attendant who 
was on foot, seeing the encamisado fall, began to 
abuse Don Quixote, who, now moved to anger, with- 
out any more ado, laying his lance in rest, charged 
one of the men in mourning and brought him badly 
wounded to the ground, and as he wheeled round on 
the others the agility with which he attacked and 
routed them was a sight to see, for it seemed just as if 
wings had that instant grown on Rocinante, so lightly 
and proudly did he bear himself. The encamisados 
were all timid folk and unarmed, so they speedily 
made their escape from the fray and set off at a run 
across the plain with their lighted torches, looking ex- 
actly like maskers running on some gala or festival 
night. The mourners, too, enveloped and swathed in 
their skirts and gowns, were unable to bestir them- 
selves, and so with entire safety to himself Don Qui- 
xote belabored them all and drove them off against 
their will, for they all thought it was no man but a 
devil from hell come to carry away the dead body 
they had in the litter. 



132 Don Quixote 

Sancho beheld all this in astonishment at the intre- 
pidity of his lord, and said to himself, " Clearly this 
master of mine is as bold and valiant as he says he is." 

A burning torch lay on the ground near the first 
man whom the mule had thrown, by the light of 
which Don Quixote perceived him, and coming up to 
him he presented the point of the lance to his face, 
calling on him to yield himself prisoner, or else he 
would kill him ; to which the prostrate man replied, 
" I am prisoner enough as it is ; I cannot stir, for one 
of my legs is broken : I entreat you, if you be a Chris- 
tian gentleman, not to kill me, for I am a licentiate 
and I hold first orders." 

" Then what the dickens brought you here, being a 
churchman? " asked Don Quixote. 

'•'What, serlor?" said the other. " My bad luck." 

" Then still worse awaits you," said Don Quixote, 
" if you do not satisfy me as to all I asked you at first." 

"You shall be soon satisfied," said the licentiate; 
" you must know, then, that though just now I said I 
was a licentiate, I am only a bachelor, and my name 
is Alonzo Lopez ; I come from the city of Baeza 
with eleven others, priests, the same who fled with the 
torches, and we are going to the city of Segovia ac- 
companying a dead body which is in that litter, and 
is that of a gentleman who died in Baeza ; and now, as 
I said, we are taking his bones to their burial-place, 
which is in Segovia, where he was born.' , 

" And who killed him? " asked Don Quixote. 

" God, by means of a malignant fever that took him," 
answered the bachelor. 



Chapter XV 133 

" In that case," said Don Quixote, "the Lord has 
relieved me of the task of avenging his death had any- 
other slain him ; but he who slew him having slain 
him, there is nothing for it but to be silent, and shrug 
one's shoulders ; I should do the same were he to slay 
myself; and I would have your reverence know that I 
am a knight of La Mancha, Don Quixote by name, 
and it is my business and calling to roam the world 
righting wrongs and redressing injuries." 

" I do not know how that about righting wrongs can 
be," said the bachelor, "for from straight you have 
made me crooked, leaving me with a broken leg that 
will never see itself straight again all the days of its 
life ; and the injury you have redressed in my case 
has been to leave me injured in such a way that I 
shall remain injured forever ; and the height of mis- 
adventure it was to fall in with you who go in search 
of adventures." 

"Things do not all happen in the same w 7 ay," 
answered Don Quixote ; " it all came, Sir Bachelor, 
of your going, as you did, by night, dressed in those 
surplices, with lighted torches, praying, covered with 
mourning, so that naturally you looked like something 
evil and of the other world ; and so I could not avoid 
doing my duty in attacking you." 

" As my fate has so willed it," said the bachelor, " I 
entreat you, Sir Knight- errant, whose errand has been 
such an evil one for me, to help me to get from under 
this mule that holds one of my legs caught between 
the stirrup and the saddle." 

" I would have talked on till to-morrow," said Don 



134 Don Quixote 

Quixote ; " how long were you going to wait before 
telling me of your distress? " 

He at once called to Sancho, who. however, had no 
mind to come, as he was just then engaged in un- 
loading a sumpter mule, well laden with provender, 
which these worthy gentlemen had brought with them. 
Sancho made a bag of his coat, and, getting together 
as much as he could, and as the mule's sack would 
hold, he loaded his beast, and then hastened to obey 
his master's call, and helped him to remove the bach- 
elor from under the mule ; then putting him on her 
back he gave him the torch, and Don Quixote bade 
him follow the track of his companions, and beg par- 
don of them on his part for the wrong which he 
could not help doing them. 

And said Sancho, " If by chance these gentlemen 
should want to know who was the hero that served 
them so, your worship may tell them that he is the 
famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called 
the Knight of the Rueful Countenance." 

The bachelor then took his departure, and Don 
Quixote asked Sancho what had induced him to call 
him the " Knight of the Rueful Countenance " more 
then than at any other time. 

"I will tell you," answered Sancho; "it was 
because I have been looking at you for some time 
by the light of the torch held by that unfortunate, 
and verily your worship has got of late the most ill- 
favored countenance I ever saw ; it must be either 
owing to the fatigue of this combat, or else to the 
want of teeth and grinders." 



Chapter XV 135 

"It is not that," replied Don Quixote, "but be- 
cause the sage whose- duty it will be to write the 
history of my achievements must have thought it 
proper that I should take some distinctive name as 
all knights of yore did ; one being ' He of the Burning 
Sword,' another ' He of the Unicorn,' this one ' He of 
the Damsels,' that ' He of the Phcenix,' another 'The 
Knight of the Griffin,' and another 'He of the 
Death,' and by these names and designations they 
were known all the world round ; and so I say that 
the sage aforesaid must have put it into your mouth 
and mind just now to call me 'The Knight of the 
Rueful Countenance,' as I intend to call myself from 
this day forward ; and that the said name may fit me 
better, I mean, when the opportunity offers, to have 
a very rueful countenance painted on my shield." 

" There is no occasion, senor, for wasting time or 
money on making that countenance," said Sancho ; 
"for all that need be done is for your worship to 
show your own, face to face, to those who look at you, 
and without anything more, either image or shield, 
they will call you ' Him of the Rueful Countenance ' ; 
and believe me I am telling you the truth, for I assure 
you, senor, hunger and the loss of your grinders have 
given you such an ill-favored face that, as I say, the 
rueful picture may be very well spared." 

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's pleasantry ; never- 
theless he resolved to call himself by that name, and 
have his shield or buckler painted as he had devised. 

Don Quixote would have looked to see whether the 
body in the litter were bones or not, but Sancho 



136 Don Quixote 

would not have it, saying, " Senor, you have ended 
this perilous adventure more safely for yourself than 
any of those I have seen : perhaps these people, 
though beaten and routed, may bethink themselves 
that it is a single man that has beaten them, and 
feeling sore and ashamed of it may take heart and 
come in search of us and give us trouble. The ass 
is in proper trim, the mountains are near at hand, 
hunger presses, we have nothing more to do but make 
good our retreat, and, as the saying is, let the dead 
go to the grave and the living to the loaf"; and 
driving his ass before him he begged his master to 
follow, who, feeling that Sancho was right, did so 
without replying ; and after proceeding some little 
distance between two hills they found themselves 
in a wide and retired valley where they alighted. 
Sancho unloaded his beast and, stretched on the 
green grass, with hunger for sauce, they breakfasted, 
dined, lunched, and supped all at once, satisfying 
their appetites with more than one store of cold meat 
which the dead man's clerical gentlemen (who seldom 
put themselves on short allowance) had brought with 
them on their sumpter mule. But another piece of 
ill-luck befell them, which Sancho held the worst of 
all, and that was that they had no wine to drink, or 
even water to moisten their lips ; and as thirst tor- 
mented them, Sancho, observing that the meadow 
where they were was full of green and tender grass, 
said what will be told in the following chapter. 



CHAPTER XVI 

OF THE UNEXAMPLED AND UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE 
WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE 
OF LA MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER 
ACHIEVED BY ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE WORLD 

" ¥ T cannot be, senor, but that this grass is a proof 
that there must be hard by some spring or brook 

A to give it moisture, so it would be well done to 
move a little farther on, that we may find some place 
where we may quench this terrible thirst that 
plagues us." 

The advice seemed good to Don Quixote, and, he 
leading Rocinante by the bridle, and Sancho the ass 
by the halter, after he had packed away on him the 
remains of the supper, they advanced up the meadow 
feeling their way, for the darkness of the night made 
it impossible to see anything \ but they had not gone 
two hundred paces when a loud noise of water, as 
if falling from high rocks, struck their ears.. The 
sound cheered them greatly; but halting to make 
out by listening from what quarter it came they heard 
unseasonably another noise which spoiled the satis- 
faction' the sound the water gave them, especially for 
Sancho who was by nature timid and faint-hearted ; 
they heard, I say, strokes falling with a measured beat, 

*37 



138 Don Quixote 

and a certain rattling of iron and chains that, together 
with the furious din of the water, would have struck 
terror into any heart but Don Quixote's. The night 
was, as has been said, dark, and they had happened 
to reach a spot in among some tall trees, whose leaves 
stirred by a gentle breeze made a low ominous sound \ 
so that, what with the solitude, the place, the darkness, 
the noise of the water, and the rustling of the leaves, 
everything inspired awe and dread ; more especially 
as they perceived that the strokes did not cease, nor 
the wind lull, nor morning approach ; to all which 
might be added their ignorance as to where they were. 
But Don Quixote, supported by his intrepid heart, 
leaped onRocinante, and bracing his buckler on his 
arm, brought his pike to the slope, and said, " Friend 
Sancho, know that I by Heaven's will have been born 
in this our iron age to revive in it the age of gold ; I 
am he for whom perils, mighty achievements, and 
valiant deeds are reserved ; I am, I say again, he 
who is to revive the Knights of the Round Table, and 
he who is to consign to oblivion the whole herd of 
famous knights- errant of days gone by, performing in 
these in which I live such exploits, marvels, and feats 
of arms as shall obscure their brightest deeds. Thou 
dost mark well, faithful and trusty squire, the gloom 
of this night, its strange silence, the dull confused 
murmur of those trees, the awful sound of that water 
in quest of which we came, that seems as though it 
were precipitating and dashing itself down from the 
lofty mountains of the moon, and that incessant 
hammering that wounds and pains our ears ; which 



Chapter XVI 139 

things all together and each of itself are enough to 
instil fear, dread, and dismay into the breast of Mars 
himself. Well, then, all this that I put before thee is 
but an incentive and stimulant to my spirit, making 
my heart burst in my bosom through eagerness to 
engage in this adventure, arduous as it promises to be ; 
therefore tighten Rocinante's girths a little, and God 
be with thee ; wait for me here three days and no 
more, and if in that time I come not back, thou canst 
return to our village, and thence, to do me a favor 
and a service, thou wilt go to El Toboso, where thou 
shalt say to my incomparable lady Dulcinea that her 
captive knight hath died in attempting things that 
might make him worthy of being called hers." 

When Sancho heard his master's words he began to 
weep in the most pathetic way, saying, " Senor, I know 
not why your worship wants to attempt this so dread- 
ful adventure ; it is night now, no one sees us here, we 
can easily turn about and take ourselves out of danger, 
even if we don't drink for three days to come ; and as 
there is no one to see us, all the less will there be any 
one to set us down as cowards ; besides, I have many 
a time heard the curate of our village, whom your 
worship knows well, preach that he who seeks danger 
perishes in it ; so it is not right to tempt God by try- 
ing so tremendous a feat from which there can be no 
escape save by a miracle, and Heaven has performed 
enough of them for your worship in delivering you 
from being blanketed as I was, and bringing you out 
victorious and safe and sound from among all those 
enemies that were with the dead man • and if all this 



140 Don Quixote 

does not move or soften that hard heart, let this 
thought and reflection move it, that you will have 
hardly quitted this spot when from pure fear I shall 
yield my soul up to any one that will take it, and if 
your worship will not entirely give up attempting this 
feat, at least put it off till morning, for by what the 
lore I learned when I was a shepherd tells me it can- 
not want three hours of dawn now." 

" Let it want what it may/' replied Don Quixote, 
" it shall not be said of me now or at any time that 
tears or entreaties turned me aside from doing what 
was in accordance with knightly usage ; and so I beg 
of thee, Sancho, to hold thy peace, for God, who has 
put it into my heart to undertake now this so unex- 
ampled and terrible adventure, will take care to watch 
over my safety and console thy sorrow ; what thou 
hast to do is to tighten Rocinante's girths well, and 
wait here, for I shall come back shortly, alive or 
dead." 

Sancho, perceiving it his master's final resolve, and 
how little his tears, counsels, and entreaties prevailed 
with him, determined to have recourse to his own 
ingenuity and compel him if he could to wait till day- 
light ; and so, while tightening the girths of the horse, 
he quietly and without being felt, tied both Rocinante's 
fore legs, so that when Don Quixote strove to go he 
was unable as the horse could only move by jumps. 
Seeing the success of his trick, Sancho Panza said, 
" See there, senor ! Heaven, moved by my tears and 
prayers, has so ordered it that Rocinante cannot stir ; 
and if you will be obstinate, and spur and strike him, 



Chapter XVI 141 

you will only provoke fortune, and kick, as they say, 
against the pricks." 

Don Quixote at this was fain to resign himself and 
wait till daybreak or until Rocinante could move, firmly 
persuaded that all this came of something other than 
Sancho's ingenuity. So he said to him, " As it is so, 
Sancho, and as Rocinante cannot move, I am content 
to wait till dawn smiles on us, even though I weep 
while it delays its coming." 

" There is no need to weep." answered Sancho, 
"for I will amuse your worship by telling stories from 
this till daylight, unless indeed you like to dismount 
and lie down to sleep a little on the green grass after 
the fashion of knights-errant, so as to be fresher when 
day comes and the moment arrives for attempting this 
extraordinary adventure you are looking forward to." 

" What art thou talking about dismounting or sleep- 
ing for?" said Don Quixote. "Am I, thinkest thou, 
one of those knights that take their rest in the pres- 
ence of danger? " and he bade him tell some story to 
amuse him as he had proposed, to which Sancho re- 
plied that he would if his dread of what he heard 
would let him; "Still," said he, "I will strive to tell 
a story which, if I can manage to relate it, and it 
escapes me not, is the best of stories, and let your 
worship give me your attention, for here I begin. 

" In a village of Estremadura there was a goat- 
shepherd — that, is to say, one who tended goats — 
which shepherd or goatherd, as my story goes, was 
called Lope Ruiz, and this Lope Ruiz was in love 
with a shepherdess called Torralva, which shepherdess 



i4 2 Don Quixote 

called Torralva was the daughter of a rich grazier, 
and this rich grazier — " 

" If that is the way thou tellest thy tale, Sancho," 
said Don Quixote, " repeating twice all thou hast to 
say, thou wilt not have done these two days ; go 
straight on with it, and tell it like a reasonable man, 
or else say nothing." 

" Tales are always told in my country in the very 
way I am telling this," answered Sancho, " and I can- 
not tell it in any other, nor is it right of your worship 
to ask me to make new customs." 

"Tell it as thou wilt," replied Don Quixote; "and 
as fate will have it that I cannot help listening to thee, 
go on." 

" And so, lord of my soul," continued Sancho, u as 
I have said, this shepherd was in love with Torralva 
the shepherdess, who was a wild buxom lass with 
something of the look of a man about her ; I fancy 
I see her now." 

" Then you knew her? " said Don Quixote. 

" I did not know her," said Sancho, " but he who 
told me the story said it was so true and certain that 
when I told it to another I might safely declare and 
swear I had seen it all myself. And so in course of 
time the devil, who never sleeps and puts everything 
in confusion, contrived that the love the shepherd 
bore the shepherdess turned into hatred and ill-will, 
and the reason, according to evil tongues, was some 
little jealousy she caused him ; and so much did the 
shepherd hate her from that time forward that, in 
order to escape from her, he determined to quit the 



Chapter XVI 143 

country and go where he would never set eyes on her 
again. Torralva, when she found herself spurned by 
Lope, was immediately smitten with love for him, 
though she had never loved him before." 

" That is the natural way of women," said Don 
Quixote, " to scorn the one that loves them, and love 
the one that hates them : go on, Sancho." 

" It came to pass," said Sancho, " that the shepherd 
carried out his intention, and driving his goats before 
him took his way across the plains of Estremadura to 
pass over into the Kingdom of Portugal. Torralva, 
who knew of it, went after him, and on foot and bare- 
foot followed him at a distance, with a pilgrim's staff 
in her hand and a scrip round her neck, in which she 
carried, it is said, a bit of looking-glass, and a piece of 
a comb, and some little pot or other of paint for her 
face; but let her carry what she did, I am not going 
to trouble myself to prove it ; all I say is, that the 
shepherd came with his flock to cross over the 
river Guadiana, which was at that time swollen and 
almost overflowing its banks, and at the spot he came 
to there was neither ferry nor boat nor any one to 
carry him or his flock to the other side, at which he 
was much vexed, for he perceived that Torralva was 
approaching and would give him great annoyance with 
her tears and entreaties ; however, he went looking 
about so closely that he discovered a fisherman who 
had alongside of him a boat so small that it could only 
hold one person and one goat; but for all that he 
spoke to him and agreed with him to carry himself 
and his three hundred goats across. The fisherman 



144 Don Quixote 

got into the boat and carried one goat over ; he came 
back and carried another over ; he came back again, 
and again brought over another — let your worship 
keep count of the goats the fisherman is taking across, 
for if one escapes the memory there will be an end of 
the story, and it will be impossible to tell another word 
of it. To proceed, I must tell you the landing-place 
on the other side was miry and slippery, and the fisher- 
man lost a great deal of time in going and coming ; 
still he returned for another goat, and another, and 
another." 

" Take it for granted he brought them all across," 
said Don Quixote, " and don't keep going and coming 
in this way, or thou wilt not make an end of bringing 
them over this twelvemonth." 

" How many have gone across so far? " said Sancho. 

"How the dickens do I know?" replied Don 
Quixote. 

"There it is," said Sancho, "what I told you, that 
you must keep a good count ; well then, there is an 
end of the story, for there is no going any farther." 

" How can that be? " said Don Quixote ; " is it so 
essential to the story to know to a nicety the goats 
that have crossed over, that if there be a mistake of 
one in the reckoning, thou canst not go on with it?" 

" No, senor, not a bit," replied Sancho ; " for when 
I asked your worship to tell me how many goats had 
crossed, and you answered you did not know, at that 
very instant all I had to say passed away out of my 
memory, and faith, there was much virtue in it, and 
entertainment." 



Chapter XVI 145 

" So, then," said Don Quixote, " the story has come 
to an end?" 

"As much as my mother has," said Sancho. 

With this and other talk master and man passed 
the night, till Sancho, perceiving that daybreak was 
coming on apace, very cautiously untied Rocinante. 
As soon as Rocinante found himself free, though by 
nature he was not at all mettlesome, he seemed to 
feel lively and began pawing — for as to capering, 
begging his pardon, he knew not what it meant. Don 
Quixote, then, observing that Rocinante could move, 
took it as a good sign and a signal that he should 
attempt the dread adventure. By this time day had 
fully broken and everything showed distinctly, and 
Don Quixote saw that he was among some tall trees, 
chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade ; he perceived 
likewise that the sound of the strokes did not cease, 
but could not discover what caused it, and so without 
any further delay he let Rocinante feel the spur, and 
began to move towards that quarter whence the sound 
of the water and of the strokes seemed to come. 

Sancho followed him on foot, leading by the halter, 
as his custom was, his ass, his constant comrade in 
prosperity or adversity ; and advancing some distance 
through the shady chestnut trees they came on a little 
meadow at the foot of some high rocks, down which 
a mighty rush of water flung itself. At the foot of 
the rocks were some rudely constructed houses, from 
among which came, they perceived, the din and clat- 
ter of blows, which still continued without intermis- 
sion. Rocinante took fright at the noise of the water 



146 Don Quixote 

and of the blows, but quieting him Don Quixote ad- 
vanced step by step towards the houses, commending 
himself with all his heart to his lady, imploring her 
support in that dread pass and enterprise, and on the 
way commending himself to God, too, not to forget 
him. Sancho, who never quitted his side, stretched 
his neck as far as he could and peered between the 
legs of Rocinante to see if he could now discover 
what it was that caused him such fear and apprehen- 
sion. They went it might be a hundred paces farther, 
when on turning a corner the true cause, beyond the 
possibility of any mistake, of that dread-sounding and 
to them awe-inspiring noise that had kept them all 
the night in such fear and perplexity, appeared plain 
and obvious ; and it was six fulling- hammers which 
by their alternate strokes made all the din. 

When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was 
struck dumb and rigid from head to foot. Sancho 
glanced at him and saw him with his head bent down 
on his breast in manifest mortification ; and Don 
Quixote glanced at Sancho and saw him with his 
cheeks puffed out and his mouth full of laughter, and 
evidently ready to explode with it, and in spite of his 
vexation he could not help laughing at the sight of 
him ; and when Sancho saw his master begin he let 
go so heartily that he had to hold his sides with both 
hands to keep himself from bursting with laughter. 



CHAPTER XVII 

WHICH TREATS OF THE EXALTED ADVENTURE AND RICH 
PRIZE OF MAMBRINO'S HELMET, TOGETHER WITH 
OTHER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE 
KNIGHT 



I 



T now began to rain a little, and Sancho was for 
going into the fulling-mills, but Don Quixote had 
taken such a disgust to them on account of the 
late joke that he would not enter them on any ac- 
count : so turning aside to the right they came on 
another road, different from that which they had 
taken the night before. Shortly afterwards Don 
Quixote perceived a man on horseback who wore on 
his head something that shone like gold, and the 
moment he saw him he turned to Sancho and said, 
" I think, Sancho, there is no proverb that is not true, 
all being maxims drawn from experience itself, the 
mother of all the sciences, especially that one that 
says, 'Where one door shuts, another opens.' I say 
so because if last night fortune shut the door of the 
adventure we were looking for against us, cheating us 
with the fulling-mills, it now opens wide another one 
for a better and more certain adventure. I say this 
because, if I mistake not, there comes towards us one 
who wears on his head the helmet of Mambrino, con- 
cerning which I took the oath thou rememberest. 

M7 



148 Don Quixote 

Tell me, seest thou not yonder knight coming towards 
us on a dappled gray steed, who has on his head a 
helmet of gold? " 

"What I see and make out/' answered Sancho. "is 
only a man on a gray ass like my own. who has some- 
thing that shines on his head/' 

"Well, that is the helmet of Mambrino," said Don 
Quixote : " stand to one side and leave me alone with 
him : thou shalt see how. without saying a word, to 
save time, I shall bring this adventure to an issue 
and possess myself of the helmet I have so longed 
for/' 

The fact of the matter as regards the helmet, steed, 
and knight that Don Quixote saw. was this. In that 
neighborhood there were two villages, one of them so 
small that it had neither apothecary's shop, nor barber, 
which the other that was close to it had, so the barber 
of the larger served-the smaller, and in it there was a 
sick man who required to be bled, and another man 
who wanted to be shaved, and on this errand the 
barber was going, carrying with him a brass basin ; 
but as luck would have it, as he was on the way it 
began to rain, and not to spoil his hat, which probably 
was a new one, he put the basin on his head, and being 
clean it glittered at half a league's distance. He rode 
on a gray ass, as, Sancho said, and this was what made 
it seem to Don Quixote to be a dapple-gray steed and 
a knight and a golden helmet ; for everything he saw 
he made to fall in with his crazy chivalry notions ; and 
when he saw the poor knight draw near, without enter- 
ing into any parley with him, at Rocinante's top speed 









Chapter XVII 149 

he bore down on him with the pike pointed low, fully 
determined to run him through and through, and as 
he reached him, without checking the fury of his 
charge, he cried to him, " Defend thyself, miserable 
being, or yield me of thine own accord that which is 
so reasonably my due." 

The barber, who without any expectation or appre- 
hension of it saw this apparition coming down on him, 
had no other way of saving himself from the stroke 
of the lance but to let himself fall off his ass ; and no 
sooner had he touched the ground than he sprang up 
more nimbly than a deer and sped away across the 
plain faster than the wind. 

He left the basin on the ground, which Don Quixote 
told Sancho to pick up, and he taking it in his hands, 
handed it to his master, who immediately put it on 
his head, turning it round, now this way, now that, in 
search of the visor, and not finding it he said, " Clearly 
the pagan to whose measure this famous head-piece 
was first forged must have had a very large head ; but 
the worst of it is half of it is wanting." 

When Sancho heard him call the basin a head-piece 
he was unable to restrain his laughter. 

"What art thou laughing at, Sancho?" said Don 
Quixote. 

"I am laughing," said he, "to think of the great 
head the pagan must have had who owned this helmet, 
for it looks exactly like a regular barber's basin." 

"Dost thou know what I suspect, Sancho?" said 
Don Quixote • " that this wonderful enchanted helmet 
must by some strange accident have come into the 



150 Don Quixote 

hands of some one who was unable to recognize or 
realize its value, and who, not knowing what he did, 
and seeing it to be of the purest gold, must have 
melted down one half for the sake of what it might 
be worth, and of the other made this which is like a 
barber's basin as thou sayest ; but be it as it may, to 
me who recognize it, its transformation makes no dif- 
ference, for I will set it to rights at the first village 
where there is a blacksmith, and in such style that 
that helmet the god of smithies forged for the god of 
battles shall not surpass it or even come up to it ; and 
in the meantime I will wear it as well as I can, for 
something is better than nothing ; all the more as it 
will be quite enough to protect me from any chance 
blow of a stone." 

"That is," said Sancho, "if it is not shot with a 
sling as they were in the battle of the two armies. 
But putting that aside, will your worship tell me what 
are we to do with this dapple-gray steed that looks 
like a gray ass, which this fellow your worship over- 
threw has left deserted here? for, from the way he 
took to his heels and bolted, he is not likely ever to 
come back for it ; and by my beard but the gray is a 
good one." 

" I have never been in the habit," said Don Quixote, 
" of taking spoil of those whom I vanquish, nor is it 
the practice of chivalry to take away their horses and 
leave them to go on foot, unless indeed it be that the 
victor have lost his own in the combat, in which case 
it is lawful to take that of the vanquished as a thing 
won in lawful war ; therefore, Sancho, leave this horse, 



Chapter XVII 151 

or ass, or whatever thou wilt have it to be ; for when 
its owner sees us gone hence he will come back 
for it." 

'•God knows I should like to take it," returned 
Sancho, " or at least to change it for my own, which 
does not seem to me as good a one : verily the laws of 
chivalry are strict, since they cannot be stretched to 
let one ass be changed for another ; I should like to 
know if I might at least change trappings." 

" On that head I am not quite certain," answered 
Don Quixote, " and the matter being doubtful, pend- 
ing better information, I say thou mayest change 
them, if so be thou hast urgent need of them." 

" So urgent is it," answered Sancho, " that if they 
were for my own person I could not want them more " • 
and forthwith, fortified by this license, he rigged out 
his beast, making quite another thing of it. This done, 
they broke their fast on the remains of the spoils of 
war plundered from the sumpter mule, and drank of 
the brook that flowed from the fulling-mills, and, all 
anger and gloom removed, they mounted and, without 
taking any fixed road (not to fix on any being the 
proper thing for true knights-errant), they set out, 
guided by Rocinante's will, which carried along with 
it that of his master, not to say that of the ass, which 
always followed him wherever he led, lovingly and 
sociably ; nevertheless they returned to the highroad, 
and pursued it at a venture. 

As, they went along, then, in this way Sancho said 
to his master, " Senor, would your worship give me 
leave to speak a little to you? " 



152 Don Quixote 

" Say on, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " and be brief 
in thy discourse, for there is no pleasure in one that is 
long." 

"Well then, sefior," returned Sancho, "I say that 
for some days past I have been considering how little 
is got or gained by going in search of these adventures 
that your worship seeks in these wilds and cross-roads 
where even if the most perilous are victoriously 
achieved, there is no one to see or know them, and so 
they must be left untold forever, to the loss of your 
worship's object and the credit they deserve ; there- 
fore it seems to me it would be better if we were to go 
and serve some emperor or other great prince who 
may have some war on hand, in whose service your 
worship may prove the worth of your person, your 
great might, and greater understanding, on perceiving 
which the lord in whose service we may be will per- 
force have to reward us, each according to his merits ; 
and there you will not be at a loss for some one to set 
down your achievements in writing so as to preserve 
their memory forever. " 

"Thou speakest not amiss, Sancho," answered Don 
Quixote, " but before that point is reached it is requi- 
site to roam the world, as it were on probation, seek- 
ing adventures, in order that by achieving some, name 
and fame may be acquired, such that when he betakes 
himself to the court of some great monarch, the knight 
may be already known by his deeds, and that the boys, 
the instant they see him enter the gate of the city, may 
all follow him and surround him, crying, ' This is the 
Knight of the Sun' — or the Serpent, or any other 



Chapter XVII 153 

title under which he may have achieved great deeds. 
1 This,' they will say, ' is he who vanquished in single 
combat the gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength ; 
he who delivered the great Mameluke of Persia out of 
the long enchantment under which he had been for 
almost nine hundred years.' So from one to another 
they will go proclaiming his achievements : and pres- 
ently at the tumult of the boys and the others the king 
of that kingdom will appear at the windows of his royal 
palace, and as soon as he beholds the knight, recog- 
nizing him by his arms and the device on his shield, 
he will as a matter of course say, ' What ho ! Forth all 
ye, the knights of my court, to receive the flower of 
chivalry who cometh hither ! ' At which command 
all will issue forth, and he himself, advancing half-way 
down the stairs, will embrace him closely, and salute 
him, kissing him on the cheek, and will then lead him 
to the queen's chamber, where the knight will find her 
with the princess her daughter, who will be one of the 
most beautiful and accomplished damsels that could 
with the utmost pains be discovered anywhere in the 
known world. Straightway it will come to pass that 
she will fix her eyes on the knight and he his on her, 
and each will seem to the other something more divine 
than human, and, without knowing how or why, they 
will be taken and entangled in the inextricable toils of 
love, and sorely distressed in their hearts not to see 
any way of making their pains and sufferings known by 
speech. Thence they will lead him, no doubt, to some 
richly adorned chamber of the palace, where, having 
removed his armor, they will bring him a rich mantle 



154 Don Quixote 

of scarlet wherewith to robe himself, and if he looked 
noble in his armor he will look still more so in a doub- 
let. 

" When night comes he will sup with the king, queen, 
and princess ; and all the time he will never take 
his eyes off her, stealing stealthy glances, unnoticed 
by those present, and she will do the same, and with 
equal cautiousness, being, as I have said, a damsel 
of great discretion. The tables being removed, sud- 
denly through the door of the hall there will enter a 
hideous and diminutive dwarf followed by a fair dame, 
between two giants, who comes with a certain adven- 
ture, the work of an ancient sage ; and he who shall 
achieve it shall be deemed the best knight in the world. 
The king will then command all those present to essay 
it, and none will bring it to an end and conclusion 
save the stranger knight, to the great enhancement of 
his fame, whereat the princess will be overjoyed and 
will esteem herself happy and fortunate in having fixed 
and placed her thoughts so high. And the best of it 
is that this king, or prince, or whatever he is, is en- 
gaged in a very bitter war with another as powerful 
as himself, and the stranger knight, after having been 
some days at his court, requests leave from him to go 
and serve him in the said war. The king will grant it 
very readily, and the knight will courteously kiss his 
hands for the favor done to him ; and that night he 
will take leave of his lady the princess at the grating 
of the chamber where she sleeps, which looks on a 
garden, and at which he has already many times con- 
versed with her, the go-between and confidante in the 



Chapter XVII 155 

matter being a damsel much trusted by the princess. 
He will sigh, she will swoon, the damsel will fetch 
water ; at last the princess will come to herself and 
will present her white hands through the grating to the 
knight, who will kiss them a thousand times, bathing 
them with his tears. It will be arranged between 
them how they are to inform each other of their good 
or evil fortunes, and the princess will entreat him to 
make his absence as short as possible, which he will 
promise to do with many oaths ; once more he kisses 
her hands, and takes his leave in such grief that he is 
well-nigh ready to die. He betakes himself thence to 
his chamber, flings himself on his bed, cannot sleep 
for sorrow at parting, rises early in the morning, goes 
to take leave of the king, queen, and princess, and, 
as he takes his leave of the pair, it is told him that the 
princess is indisposed and cannot receive a visit ; the 
knight thinks it is from grief at his departure, his heart 
is pierced, and he is hardly able to keep from showing 
his pain. The confidante is present, observes all, goes 
to tell her mistress, who listens with tears and says that 
one of her greatest distresses is not knowing who this 
knight is, and whether he is of kingly lineage or not ; 
the damsel assures her that so much courtesy, gentle- 
ness, and gallantry of bearing as her knight possesses 
could not exist in any save one who was royal and illus- 
trious ; her anxiety is thus relieved, and she strives to 
be of good cheer lest she should excite suspicion in 
her parents, and at the end of two days she appears in 
public. 

" Meanwhile the knight has taken his departure ; 



156 Don Quixote 

he fights in the war, conquers the king's enemy, wins 
many cities, triumphs in many battles, returns to the 
court, sees his lady where he was wont to see her, 
and it is agreed that he shall demand her in marriage 
of her parents as the reward of his services ; the king 
is unwilling to give her, as he knows not who he is, but 
nevertheless, whether carried off or in whatever other 
way it may be, the princess comes to be his bride, and 
her father comes to regard it as very good fortune ; for 
it so happens that this knight is proved to be the 
son of a valiant king of some kingdom, I know not 
what, for I fancy it is not likely to be on the map : the 
father dies, the princess inherits, and in two words the 
knight becomes king, x\nd here comes in at once 
the bestowal of rewards on his squire and all who have 
aided him in rising to so exalted a rank. He marries 
his squire to a damsel of the princess's who will be, 
no doubt, the one who was confidante in their amour, 
and is daughter of a very great duke." 

" That's what I want, and no mistake about it ! " 
said Sancho. " That's what I'm waiting for ; for all 
this, word for word, is in store for your worship under 
the title of The Knight of the Rueful Countenance." 

"Thou needst not doubt it, Sancho," replied Don 
Quixote. " for in the same manner, and by the same 
steps as I have described here, knights-errant rise and 
have risen to be kings and emperors ; all we want now 
is to find out what king, Christian or pagan, is at war 
and has a beautiful daughter ; but there will be time 
enough to think of that, for, as I have told thee, fame 
must be won in other quarters before repairing to the 



Chapter XVII 157 

court. There is another thing, too, that is wanting ■ 
for supposing we find a king who is at war and has a 
beautiful daughter, and that I have won incredible 
fame throughout the universe, I know not how it can 
be made out that I am of royal lineage, or even sec- 
ond cousin to an emperor ; for the king will not be 
willing to give me his daughter in marriage unless he 
is first thoroughly satisfied on this point, however much 
my famous deeds may deserve it ; so that by this de- 
ficiency I fear I shall lose what my arm has fairly 
earned. True it is I am a gentleman of a known 
house, of estate and property, and it may be that the 
sage who shall write my history will so clear up my 
ancestry and pedigree that I may find myself fifth or 
sixth in descent from a king ; I may be of such that 
after investigation my origin may prove great and 
famous, with which the king, my father-in-law that is 
to be, ought to be satisfied ; and should he not be, 
the princess will so love me that even though she well 
knew me to be the son of a water-carrier, she will take 
me for her lord and husband in spite of her father ; if 
not, then it comes to seizing her and carrying her off 
where I please ; for time or death will put an end to 
the wrath of her parents." 



CHAPTER XVIII 

OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VAL- 
IANT DON QUIXOTE WITH THE BOLD KNIGHT OF 
THE GROVE. 

THE night succeeding the day of the encounter 
with the barber, Don Quixote and his squire 
passed under some tall shady trees, and Don 
Quixote at Sancho's persuasion ate a little from the 
store carried by Dapple. After their supper Sancho 
felt a desire to let down the curtains of his eyes, as he 
used to say when he wanted to go to sleep ; and 
stripping Dapple he left him at liberty to graze his 
fill. He did not remove Rocinante's saddle, as his 
master's express orders were that so long as they were 
in the field or not sleeping under a roof Rocinante 
was not to be stripped — the ancient usage established 
and observed by knights- errant being to take off the 
bridle and hang it on the saddle-bow, but to remove 
the saddle from the horse — never ! Sancho acted 
accordingly, and gave him the same liberty he had 
given Dapple, between whom and Rocinante there 
was a friendship so unequalled and so strong, that it is 
handed down by tradition from father to son, how 
eagerly the two beasts would scratch one another 
when they were together, and how, when they were 

158 



Chapter XVIII 159 

tired or full, Rocinante would lay his neck across 
Dapple's, stretching half a yard or more on the other 
side, and the pair would stand thus, gazing thought- 
fully on the ground, for three days, or at least so long 
as they were left alone, or hunger did not drive them 
to go and look for food. 

Sancho at last fell asleep at the foot of a cork 
tree, while Don Quixote dozed at that of a sturdy oak • 
but a short time only had elapsed when a noise he 
heard behind him awoke him. Rising up startled, he 
listened and looked in the direction the noise came 
from, and perceived two men on horseback, one of 
whom, letting himself drop from the saddle, said to 
the other, " Dismount, my friend, and take the bridles 
off the horses, for, so far as I can see, this place will 
furnish grass for them, and the solitude and silence 
my love-sick thoughts have need of." 

As he said this he stretched himself on the ground, 
and as he flung himself down, the armor in which he 
was clad rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived that 
he must be a knight- errant ; and going over to 
Sancho, who was asleep, he shook him by the arm 
and with no small difficulty brought him back to his 
senses, and said in a low voice, " Brother Sancho, we 
have got an adventure." 

"God send us a good one," said Sancho; "and 
where, senor, may her ladyship the adventure be ? " 

"Where, Sancho?" replied Don Quixote; "turn 
thine eyes and look, and thou wilt see stretched there 
a knight- errant, who, it strikes me, is not over and 
above happy, for I saw him fling himself off his horse 



160 Don Quixote 

and throw himself on the ground with a certain air of 
dejection, and his armor rattled as he fell." 

"Well," said Sancho, "how does your worship make 
out that to be an adventure?" 

" I do not mean to say/' returned Don Quixote, 
" that it is a complete adventure, but that it is the 
beginning of one, for it is in this way adventures 
begin. But listen, for it seems he is tuning a lute 
or guitar, and from the way he is spitting and clear- 
ing his chest he must be getting ready to sing some- 
thing." 

"Faith, you are right," said Sancho, "and no doubt 
he is some enamoured knight." 

"There is no knight-errant that is not," said Don 
Quixote ; " but let us listen to him, for, if he sings, by 
that thread we shall extract the ball of his thoughts ; 
because out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
speaketh." 

Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the 
Knight of the Grove's voice, which was neither very 
bad nor very good, stopped him, and listening atten- 
tively the pair heard him sing a sonnet. 

With an "xA.h me ! " that seemed to be drawn from 
the inmost recesses of his heart, the Knight of the 
Grove brought his lay to an end, and shortly after- 
wards exclaimed in a melancholy and piteous voice, 
" O fairest and most ungrateful woman on earth ! 
What ! can it be, most serene Casildea de Vandalia, 
that thou wilt suffer this thy captive knight to waste 
away and perish in ceaseless wanderings and rude and 
arduous toils ? Is it not enough that I have compelled 



Chapter XVIII 161 

all the knights of Navarre, all the Leonese, all the 
Tartesians, all the Castilians, and finally all the knights 
of La Mancha, to confess thee the most beautiful in 
the world?" 

"Not so," said Don Quixote at this, " for I am of 
La Mancha, and I have never confessed anything of 
the sort, nor could I nor should I confess a thing so 
much to the prejudice of my lady's beauty; thou seest 
how this knight is raving, Sancho. But let us listen, 
perhaps he will tell us more about himself." 

"That he will," returned Sancho, "for he seems in 
a mood to bewail himself for a month at a stretch." 

But this was not the case, for the Knight of the 
Grove, hearing voices near him, instead of continuing 
his lamentation, stood up and exclaimed in a distinct 
but courteous tone, "Who goes there ? What are you ? 
Do you belong to the number of the happy or of the 
miserable? " 

" Of the miserable," answered Don Quixote. 

"Then come to me," said he of the Grove, "and 
rest assured that it is to woe itself and affliction itself 
you come." 

Don Quixote, rinding himself answered in such a 
soft and courteous manner, went over to him, and so 
did Sancho. 

The doleful knight took Don Quixote by the arm, 
saying, " Sit down here, Sir Knight ; for, that you are 
one, and of those that profess knight-errantry, it is to 
me a. sufficient proof to have found you in this place, 
where solitude and night, the natural couch and proper 
retreat of knights-errant, keep you company." To 



1 62 Don Quixote 

which Don Quixote made answer, "A knight I am 
of the profession you mention ; and though sorrows, 
misfortunes, and calamities have made my heart their 
abode, the compassion I feel for the misfortunes of 
others has not been thereby banished from it." 

In the meantime, they had seated themselves to- 
gether on the hard ground peaceably and socially, 
just as if, as soon as day broke, they were not going 
to break one another's heads. 

" Are you, Sir Knight, in love perchance ? " asked 
he of the Grove of Don Quixote. 

" By mischance I am," replied Don Quixote ; 
" though the ills arising from well-bestowed affections 
should be esteemed favors rather than misfortunes." 

"That is true," returned he of the Grove, " if scorn 
did not unsettle our reason and understanding." 

"I was never scorned by my lady," said Don 
Quixote. 

" Certainly not," said Sancho, who stood close by. 

" Is this your squire ? " asked he of the Grove. 

"He is," said Don Quixote. 

" I never yet saw a squire," said he of the Grove, 
" who ventured to speak when his master was speak- 
ing ; at least, there is mine, and it cannot be proved 
that he has ever opened his lips when I am speaking." 

"By my faith, then," said Sancho, " I have spoken, 
and am fit to speak, in the presence of one as much, 
or even — but never mind — it only makes it worse to 
stir it." 

The Squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, 
saying to him, " Let us two go where we can talk in 



Chapter XVIII 163 

squire style as much as we please, and leave these 
gentlemen our masters to fight it out over the story of 
their loves ; and, depend on it, daybreak will find 
them at it without having made an end of it." 

" So be it by all means," said Sancho. 

With this the two squires withdrew to one side. 

The knights and the squires made two parties, 
these telling the story of their lives, the others the 
story of their loves. Withdrawing a little from the 
others, the Squire of the Grove said to Sancho, " A 
hard life it is we lead and live, senor, we that are 
squires to knights- errant ; verily we eat our bread in 
the sweat of our faces." 

" It may be said, too," added Sancho, " that we eat 
it in the chill of our bodies ; for who gets more heat 
and cold than the miserable squires of knight-errantry? 
Even so it would not be so bad if we had something 
to eat, for woes are lighter if there's bread ; but 
sometimes we go a day or two without breaking our 
fast, except with the wind that blows." 

On this the Squire of the Grove said, " It seems to 
me that with all this talk of ours our tongues are 
sticking to the roofs of our mouths ; but I have a 
pretty good loosener hanging from the saddle-bow of 
my horse," and getting up he came back the next 
minute with a large bota of wine and a pasty half a 
yard across. 

Sancho ate without requiring to be pressed, and 
said he : " You are a proper trusty squire, one of the 
right sort, sumptuous and grand, as this banquet shows, 
which, if it has not come here by magic art, at any 



164 Don Quixote 

rate has the look of it ; not like me, unlucky beggar, 
that have nothing more in my alforjas than a scrap of 
cheese, so hard that one might brain a giant with it, 
and, to keep it company, a few dozen filberts and 
walnuts ; thanks to the austerity of my master, and 
the idea he has, and the rule he follows, that knights- 
errant must not live or sustain themselves on any- 
thing except dried fruits and the herbs of the field." 

" By my faith, brother," said he of the Grove, " my 
stomach is not made for thistles, or wild pears, or 
roots out of the woods ; let our masters do as they 
like, with their chivalry notions and laws, and eat what 
those enjoin; I carry my prog-basket and this bota 
hanging to the saddle-bow, whatever they may think " ; 
and so saying he thrust the latter into Sancho's hands, 
who, raising it aloft pressed to his mouth, gazed at 
the stars for a quarter of an hour. 

The end of it was that the two squires talked so 
much and drank so much that sleep had to tie their 
tongues and moderate their thirst, for to quench it 
was impossible ; and so the pair of them fell asleep 
clinging to the now nearly empty bota and with half- 
chewed morsels in their mouths ; and there we will 
leave them for the present, to relate what passed be- 
tween the Knight of the Grove and him of the Rueful 
Countenance. 



CHAPTER XIX 

WHEREIN IT IS TOLD AND MADE KNOWN WHO THE 
KNIGHT OF THE GROVE AND HIS SQUIRE WERE 

AMONG the many things that passed between 
Don Quixote and the Knight of the Wood, he 
. of the Grove said to Don Quixote : " In fine, 
Sir Knight, I would have you know that my destiny led 
me to fall in love with the peerless Casildea de Van- 
dalia. This same Casildea requited my honorable 
passion and gentle aspirations by compelling me to 
engage in many perils of various sorts, at the end of 
each promising me that, with the end of the next, the 
object of my hopes should be attained ; but my labors 
have gone on increasing link by link until they are 
past counting. Last of all she has commanded me to 
go through all the provinces of Spain and compel all 
the knights-errant wandering therein to confess that 
she surpasses all women alive to-day in beauty, and 
that I am the most valiant and the most deeply 
enamoured knight on earth ; in support of which 
claim I have already travelled over the greater part 
of Spain, and have there vanquished several knights 
who have dared to contradict me ; but what I most 
plume and pride myself on is having vanquished in 
single combat that so famous knight Don Quixote of 

165 



1 66 Don Quixote 

La Mancha, and made him confess that my Casildea 
is more beautiful than his Dulcinea ; and in this one 
victory I hold myself to have conquered all the knights 
in the world ; for this Don Quixote that I speak of has 
vanquished them all, and I having vanquished him, his 
glory, his fame, and his honor have passed and are 
transferred to my person ; for 

The more the vanquished hath of fair renown, 
The greater glory gilds the victor's crown. 

Thus the innumerable achievements of the said Don 
Quixote are now set down to my account and have 
become mine." 

Don Quixote was amazed when he heard the Knight 
of the Grove, and was a thousand times on the point 
of telling him he lied, and had the lie direct already 
on the tip of his tongue ; but he restrained himself as 
well as he could, in order to force him to confess the 
lie with his own lips ; so he said to him quietly, " As 
to what you say, Sir Knight, about having vanquished 
most of the knights of Spain, or even of the whole 
world, I say nothing; but that you have vanquished 
Don Quixote of La Mancha I consider doubtful ; it 
may have been some other that resembled him, al- 
though there are few like him." 

"How! not vanquished?" said he of the Grove; 
" by the heaven that is above us I fought Don Quixote 
and overcame him and made him yield ; and he is a 
man of tall stature, gaunt features, long, lank limbs, 
with hair turning gray, an aquiline nose rather hooked, 
and large, black, drooping mustaches ; he does battle 



Chapter XIX 167 

under the name of ' The Knight of the Rueful Counte- 
nance,' and he has for squire a peasant called Sancho 
Panza ; he presses the loins and rules the reins of a 
famous steed called Rocinante ; and lastly, he has for 
the mistress of his will a certain Dulcinea del Toboso. 
If all these tokens are not enough to vindicate the 
truth of what I say, here is my sword, that will com- 
pel incredulity itself to give credence to it." 

'•'Calm yourself, Sir Knight," said Don Quixote, 
" and give ear to what I am about to say to you. I 
would have you know that this Don Quixote you speak 
of is the greatest friend I have in the world ; I cannot 
think that he is the one you have vanquished ; unless 
indeed it be that, as he has many enemies who are 
enchanters, some one of these may have taken his 
shape in order to allow himself to be vanquished, so 
as to defraud him of the fame that his exalted achieve- 
ments as a knight have earned and acquired for him 
throughout the known world. And if this does not 
suffice to convince you of the truth of what I say, 
here is Don Quixote himself, who will maintain it by 
arms, on foot or on horseback or in any way you 
please." 

And so saying he stood up and laid his hand on his 
sword, waiting to see what the Knight of the Grove 
would do, who in an equally calm voice said in reply : 
" He who has succeeded in vanquishing you once 
when transformed, Sir Don Quixote, may fairly hope 
to subdue you in your own proper shape ; but as it is 
not becoming for knights to perform their feats of 
arms in the dark, like highwaymen and bullies, let us 



1 68 Don Quixote 

wait till daylight, that the sun may behold our deeds ; 
and the conditions of our combat shall be that the 
vanquished shall be at the victor's disposal, to do all 
that he may enjoin, provided the injunction be such 
as shall be becoming a knight." 

" I am more than satisfied with these conditions 
and terms," replied Don Quixote • and so saying, they 
betook themselves to where their squires lay, and 
found them snoring, arid in the same posture they 
were in when sleep fell on them. They roused 
them up, and bade them get the horses ready, as at 
sunrise they were to engage in a bloody and arduous 
single combat ; at which intelligence Sancho was 
aghast and thunderstruck, trembling for the safety of 
his master because of the mighty deeds he had heard 
the Squire of the Grove ascribe to his ; but without a 
word the two squires went in quest of their cattle ; for 
by this time the three horses and the ass had smelt 
one another out. and were all together. 

On the way. he of the Grove said to Sancho, "You 
must know, brother, that it is the custom with the 
fighting men of Andalusia, when they are godfathers 
in any quarrel, not to stand idle with folded arms 
while their godsons fight ; I say so to remind you 
that while our masters are fighting, we, too, have to 
fight and knock one another to shivers." 

"That custom, Sir Squire," replied Sancho, "may 
hold good among those bullies and fighting men you 
talk of, but certainly not among the squires of knights- 
errant ; at least, I have never heard my master speak 
of any custom of the sort, and he knows all the laws 



Chapter XIX 169 

of knight-errantry by heart; but granting it is true 
that there is an express law that squires are to fight 
while their masters are fighting, I don't mean to obey 
it, but to pay the penalty that may be laid on peace- 
fully minded squires like myself. 

And now gay-plumaged birds of all sorts began to 
warble in the trees, and with their varied and glad- 
some notes seemed to welcome and salute the fresh 
morn that was beginning to show the beauty of her 
countenance at the gates and balconies of the east. 
The brooks babbled, the woods rejoiced, and the 
meadows arrayed- themselves in all their glory at her 
coming. But hardly had the light of day made it 
possible to see and distinguish things, when the first 
object that presented itself to the eyes of Sancho 
Panza was the Squire of the Grove's nose, which was 
so big that it almost overshadowed his whole body. 
It was, in fact, of enormous size, hooked in the 
middle, covered with warts, and of a mulberry color 
like an egg-plant ; it hung down two fingers'-lengths 
below his mouth, and the size, the color, the warts, 
and the bend of it, made his face so hideous that 
Sanchc, as he looked at him, began to tremble hand 
and foot like a child in convulsions. 

Don Quixote examined his adversary, and found 
that he already had his helmet on and the visor low- 
ered, so that he could not see his face ; he observed, 
however, that he was a sturdily built man, but not 
very tall in stature. Over his armor he wore a sur- 
coat or cassock of what seemed to be the finest cloth 
of gold, all bespangled with glittering mirrors like 



170 Don Quixote 

little moon-, which gave him an extremely gallant and 
splendid appearance ; above his helmet fluttered a 
great quantity of plumes, green, yellow, and white, 
and his lance, which was leaning against a tree, was 
very long and stout, and had a steel point more than 
a palm in length. 

Don Quixote observed all, and took note of all, and 
from what he saw and observed he concluded that the 
said knight must be a man of great strength, but he 
did not for all that give way to fear ; on the contrary, 
with a composed and dauntless air, he said to the 
Knight of the Mirrors, " If, Sir Knight, your great 
eagerness to fight has not banished your courtesy, 
by it I would entreat you to raise your visor a little, 
in order that I may see if the comeliness of- your 
countenance corresponds with that of your equip- 
ment." 

" Whether you come victorious or vanquished out of 
this emprise, Sir Knight," replied he of the Mirrors, 
" you will have more than enough time and leisure to 
see me; and if now I do not comply with your re- 
quest, it is because it seems to me I should do a 
serious wrong to the fair Casildea de Vandalia in 
wasting time while I stopped to raise my visor before 
compelling you to confess what you are already aware 
I maintain." 

"Well then," said Don Quixote, " while we are 
mounting you can at least tell me if I am that Don 
Quixote whom you said you vanquished." 

"To that we answer you," said he of the Mirrors, 
"that you are as like the very knight I vanquished 



Chapter XIX 171 

as one egg is like another, but as you say enchant- 
ers persecute you, I will not venture to say positively 
whether you are the said person or not." 

" That," said Don Quixote, " is enough to convince 
me that you are under a deception ; however, entirely 
to relieve you of it, let our horses be brought, and in 
less time than it would take you to raise your visor, 
if God, my lady, and my arm stand me in good stead, 
I shall see your face, and you shall see that I am not 
the vanquished Don Quixote you take me to be." 

With this, cutting short the colloquy, they mounted, 
and Don Quixote wheeled Rocinante round in order 
to take a proper distance to charge back on his ad- 
versary, and he of the Mirrors did the same ; but Don 
Quixote had not moved away twenty paces when he 
heard himself called by the other, and, each return- 
ing half-way, he of the Mirrors said to him, " Remem- 
ber, Sir Knight, that the terms of our combat are, that 
the vanquished, as I said before, shall be at the victor's 
disposal." 

"I am aware of it already," said Don Quixote; 
"provided what is commanded and imposed on the 
vanquished be things that do not transgress the limits 
of chivalry." 

"That is understood," replied he of the Mirrors. 

At that moment the extraordinary nose of the squire 
presented itself to Don Quixote's view, and he was 
no less amazed than Sancho at the sight ; insomuch 
that he set him down as a monster of some kind, or 
a human being of some new species or unearthly 
breed. Sancho, seeing his master retiring to run his 



172 Don Quixote 

course, did not like to be left alone with the nosy 
man : so that he ran after his master, holding on to 
Rocinante's stirrup-leather, and when it seemed to 
him time to turn about, he said, " I implore of your 
worship, senor, before you turn to charge, to help me 
up into this cork tree, from which I will be able to 
witness the gallant encounter your worship is going 
to have with this knight, more to my taste and better 
than from the ground. . To tell the truth, the mon- 
strous nose of that squire has filled me with fear and 
terror, and I dare not stay near him." 

"It is," said Don Quixote, "such a one that were 
I not what I am it would terrify me too ; so, come, I 
will help thee up where thou wilt." 

While Don Quixote waited for Sancho to mount 
into the cork tree, he of the Mirrors took as much 
ground as he considered requisite, and supposing Don 
Quixote to have done the same, without waiting for 
any sound of trumpet or other signal to direct them, 
he wheeled his horse, which was not more agile or 
better looking than Rocinante, and at his top speed, 
which was an easy trot, he proceeded to charge^ his 
enemy ; seeing him, however, engaged in putting 
Sancho up, he drew rein, and halted in mid-career, 
for which his horse was very grateful, as he was 
already unable to go. Don Quixote, fancying that 
his foe was coming down on him flying, drove his 
spurs vigorously into Rocinante's lean flanks and made 
him scud along in such style that on this occasion he 
was known to make something like running, for on 
all others it was a simple trot with him ; and with this 




THE ENCOUNTER WITH THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS 



Chapter XIX 173 

unparalleled fury he bore down where he of the Mir- 
rors stood digging his spurs into his horse without 
being able to make him stir a finger's length from the 
spot where he had come to a standstill in his course. 
At this lucky moment and crisis, Don Quixote came 
on his adversary, in trouble with his horse, and em- 
barrassed with his lance, which he either could not 
manage, or had no time to lay in rest. Don Quixote 
however, paid not attention to these difficulties, and 
in perfect safety to himself and without any risk en- 
countered him of the Mirrors with such force that he 
brought him to the ground in spite of himself over 
the haunches of his horse, and with so heavy a fall 
that he lay to all appearance dead, not stirring hand 
or foot. 

The instant Sancho saw him fall he slid down 
from the cork tree, and made all haste to where his 
master was, who, dismounting from Rocinante, went 
and stood over him of the Mirrors, and unlacing his 
helmet to see if he was dead, and to give him air if 
he should happen to be alive, he saw the very counte- 
nance, the very face, the very look, the very physiog- 
nomy, the very effigy, the very image of the bachelor 
Samson Carrasco, a recent graduate of Salamanca, and 
son of one of Don Quixote's own neighbors ! As soon 
as the victor saw Carrasco he called out in a loud 
voice, " Make haste here, friend Sancho, and behold 
what thou art to see but not to believe ; quick, my 
son, 'and see what magic can do and wizards and 
enchanters are capable of." 

Sancho came up, and when he saw the countenance 



174 Don Quixote 

of the bachelor Carrasco, he fell to crossing himself a 
thousand times, and blessing himself as many more. 
All this time the prostrate knight showed no signs of 
life, and Sancho said to Don Quixote, " It is my opin- 
ion, senor, that in any case your worship should take 
and thrust your sword into the mouth of this one here 
that looks like the bachelor Samson Carrasco ; per- 
haps in him you will kill one of your enemies, the 
enchanters." 

" Thy advice is not bad," said Don Quixote, " for 
of enemies the fewer the better " ; and he was draw- 
ing his sword to carry into effect Sancho's counsel and 
suggestion, when the Squire of the Mirrors came up, 
now without the nose which had made him so hideous, 
and cried out in a loud voice, " Mind what you are 
about, Senor Don Quixote ; that is your friend, the 
bachelor Samson Carrasco, you have at your feet, and 
I am his squire." 

" And the nose? " said Sancho, seeing him without 
the hideous feature he had before ; to which he re- 
plied, " I have it here in my pocket," and putting his 
hand into his right pocket, he pulled out a masquerade 
nose of varnished pasteboard of the make already 
described ; and Sancho, examining him more and 
more closely, exclaimed aloud in a voice of amaze- 
ment : " Holy Mary be good to me ! Isn't it Tom 
Cecial, my neighbor and gossip?" 

"Why, to be sure I am!" returned the now un- 
nosed squire ; " Tom Cecial I am, gossip and friend 
Sancho Panza ; and beg and entreat of your master 
not to touch, maltreat, wound, or slay the Knight of 



Chapter XIX 175 

the Mirrors whom he has at his feet ; because, be- 
yond all dispute, it is the rash and ill-advised bachelor 
Samson Carrasco, our fellow townsman." 

At this moment he of the Mirrors came to himself, 
and Don Quixote perceiving it, held the naked point 
of his sword over his face, and said to him, " You are 
a dead man, knight, unless you confess that the peer- 
less Dulcinea del Toboso excels your Casildea de 
Vandalia in beauty ; and in addition to this you must 
promise, if you should survive this encounter, to 
go to the city of El Toboso and present yourself 
before her on my behalf, that she deal with you ac- 
cording to her good pleasure ; and if she leaves you 
free to do yours, you are in like manner to return and 
seek me out (for the trail of my mighty deeds will 
serve you as a guide to lead you to where I may be), 
and tell me what may have passed between you and 
her — conditions which, in accordance with what we 
stipulated before our combat, do not transgress the 
just limits of knight-errantry." 

" I confess," said the fallen knight, " the beauty of 
the lady Dulcinea del Toboso ; and I promise to go 
and to return from her presence to yours, and to give 
you a fall and particular account of all you demand 
of me." 

"You must also confess and believe," added Don 
Quixote, " that the knight you vanquished was not 
and could not be Don Quixote of La Mancha, but 
some one else in his likeness, just as I confess and 
believe that you, though you seem to be the bachelor 
Samson Carrasco, are not so, but some other resem- 



176 Don Quixote 

bling him, who my enemies have here put before me 
in his shape, in order that I may restrain and mod- 
erate the vehemence of my wrath, and make a gentle 
use of the glory of my victory." 

" I confess, hold, and think everything to be as you 
believe, hold, and think it," replied the crippled 
knight ; " let me rise, I entreat you ; if, indeed, the 
shock of my fall will allow me, for it has left me in a 
sorry plight enough." 

Don Quixote helped him to rise, with the assistance 
of his squire Tom Cecial ; from whom Sancho never, 
took his eyes, and to whom he put questions, the 
replies to which furnished clear proof that he was 
really and truly the Tom Cecial he said ; but the im- 
pression made on Sancho 's mind by what his master 
said about the enchanters having changed the face of 
the Knight of the Mirrors into that of the bachelor 
Samson Carrasco, would not permit him to believe 
what he saw with his eyes. In fine, both master and 
man remained under the delusion ; and, down in the 
mouth, and out of luck, he of the Mirrors and his 
squire parted from Don Quixote and Sancho, he 
meaning to go look for some village where he could 
plaster and strap his ribs. 

The bachelor Samson Carrasco's attempt at knight- 
errantry was in consequence of having been pre- 
viously -in conclave with the curate and the barber 
on the means to be adopted to induce Don Quixote 
to stay at home in peace and quiet without worrying 
himself with his ill-starred adventures ; at which con- 
sultation it was decided by the unanimous vote of all, 



Chapter XIX 177 

that Samson should sally forth to meet him as a knight- 
errant, and do battle with him, for there would be no 
difficulty about a cause, and vanquish him, that being 
looked on as an easy matter ; and that it should be 
agreed and settled that the vanquished was to be at 
the mercy of the victor. Then, Don Quixote being 
vanquished, the bachelor knight was to command him 
to return to his village and his house, and not quit it 
for two years, or until he received further orders from 
him ; all which it was clear Don Quixote would un- 
hesitatingly obey, rather than contravene or fail to 
observe the laws of chivalry ; and during the period 
of his seclusion he might perhaps forget his folly, or 
there might be an opportunity of discovering some 
ready remedy for his madness. Carrasco undertook 
the task, and Tom Cecial, a gossip and neighbor of 
Sancho Panza's, a lively, feather-headed fellow, offered 
himself as his squire. Carrasco armed himself in the 
fashion described, and Tom Cecial, that he might not 
be known by his gossip when they met, fitted on over 
his own natural nose the false masquerade one that 
has been mentioned ; and so they followed the same 
route Don Quixote took, and finally encountered him 
in the grove, where all that the sagacious reader has 
been reading about took place. 

Tom Cecial, seeing how ill they had succeeded, and 
what a sorry end their expedition had come to, said 
to the bachelor, " Sure enough, Senor Samson Carrasco, 
we are served right. Don Quixote a madman, and 
we sane ■ he goes off laughing, safe, and sound, and 
you are left sore and sorry ! I'd like to know now 

N 



178 Don Quixote 

which is the madder, he who is so because he cannot 
help it, or he who is so of his own choice? " 

To which Samson replied, " The difference between 
the two sorts of madmen is, that he who is so will he 
nill he, will be one always, while he who is so of his 
own accord can leave off being one whenever he 
likes." 

" In that case," said Tom Cecial, " I was a madman 
of my own accord when- 1 volunteered to become your 
squire, and, of my own accord, I'll leave off being one 
and go home." 

" And I will do likewise," said Samson. 

Thus discoursing, the pair proceeded until they 
reached a town where it was their good luck to find 
a bone-setter, with whose help the unfortunate Samson 
was cured. That done, the two left for home. 



CHAPTER XX 

OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK 

DON QUIXOTE pursued his journey in great 
high spirits, satisfaction and complacency, 
fancying himself the most valorous knight- 
errant of the age in the world because of his late 
victory. He however met with no further adventure 
that day and at the approach of evening he returned 
to spend the night in the grove where he had van- 
quished the Knight of the Mirrors. Don Quixote 
settled himself at the foot of an elm and Sancho at 
the foot of a beech, for trees of this kind and others 
like them have feet but no hands. With the appear- 
ance of daylight they pursued their journey, and they 
had not been long on the way when they came to the 
banks of a river. The sight of it was a great delight 
to Don Quixote as he contemplated the clearness of 
its stream, the gentleness of its current, and the abun- 
dance of its crystal waters. 

The Don and his squire had just begun to follow 
down the stream when they discovered a small boat, 
without oars or any other gear, that lay at the water's 
edge tied to the stem of a tree growing on the bank. 
Don Quixote looked all round, and seeing nobody, 
at once, without more ado, dismounted from Rocinante 

179 



180 Don Quixote 

and bade Sancho get down from Dapple and tie both 

beasts securely to the trunk of a poplar or willow that 
stood there. Sancho asked him the reason of this 
sudden dismounting and tying. Don Quixote made 
answer : " Thou must know, Sancho, that this bark here 
is plainly, and without the possibility of any alternative, 
calling and inviting me to enter it, and in it go to give 
aid to some knight or other person of distinction in 
need of it, who is no doubt in some sore strait ; for 
this is the way of the books of chivalry and of the 
enchanters who figure and speak in them. When a 
knight is involved in some difficulty from which he 
cannot be delivered save by the hand of another 
knight, though they may be at a distance of two or 
three thousand leagues or more one from the other, 
they either take him up on a cloud, or they provide 
a bark for him to get into, and in less than the twin- 
kling of an eye they carry him where they will and 
where his help is required ; and so, Sancho, this bark 
is placed here for the same purpose ; tie Dapple and 
Rocinante together, and then in God's hand be it to 
guide us." 

"As that's the case," said Sancho, " there's nothing 
for it but to obey, but for all that I want to warn 
your worship that it is my opinion this bark is no 
enchanted one, but belongs to some of the fishermen 
of the river." 

As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving 
them to the care and protection of the enchanters. 

"Now they are tied," said Sancho; "what are we 
to do next? " 






Chapter XX 181 

"What?" said Don Quixote, " cross ourselves and 
weigh anchor ; I mean, embark and cut the moorings 
by which the bark is held"; and jumping into it, 
followed by Sancho, he cut the rope, and the bark 
began to drift away slowly from the bank. 

But when Sancho saw himself somewhere about two 
yards out in the river, he began to tremble and give 
himself up for lost ; but nothing distressed him more 
than hearing Dapple bray and seeing Rocinante strug- 
gling to get loose, and said he to his master, " Dapple 
is braying' in grief at our leaving him, and Rocinante 
is trying to escape and plunge in after us. O dear 
friends, peace be with you, and may this madness that 
is taking us away from you, turned into sober sense, 
bring us back to you." 

They now came in sight of some large water-mills, 
and the instant Don Quixote saw them he cried out 
to Sancho, " Seest thou there, my friend ? there stands 
the city, castle, or fortress, where there is, no doubt, 
some knight in durance, or ill-used queen, in aid of 
whom I am brought hither." 

"What is your worship talking about, senor?" said 
Sancho ; " don't you see that those are mills to grind 
corn?" 

"Hold thy peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote; 
" though they look like mills they are not so; I have 
already told thee that enchantments transform things 
and change their proper shapes." 

By this time the boat, having reached the middle 
of the stream, began to move less slowly than hitherto. 
The millers belonging to the mills, when they saw the 



1 82 Don Quixote 

boat coming down the river, and on the point of 
being sucked in by the draught of the wheels, ran out 
in haste, several of them, with long poles to stop it, 
and being all mealy, with faces and garments covered 
with flour, they presented a sinister appearance. 
They raised loud shouts, crying, " Devils of men, 
where are you going to? Are you mad? Do you 
want to drown yourselves, or dash yourselves to pieces 
among these wheels ? " 

"Did I not tell thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote 
at this, " that we had reached the place where I am 
to show what the might of my arm can do? See 
what ruffians and villains come out against me ; see 
what monsters oppose me ; see what hideous coun- 
tenances come to frighten us ! You shall soon see, 
scoundrels ! " And then standing up in the boat he 
began in a loud voice to hurl threats at the millers, 
exclaiming, " Ill-conditioned and worse-counselled rab- 
ble, restore to liberty and freedom the person ye hold 
in durance in this your fortress or prison, high or low 
or of whatever rank or quality he be, for I am Don 
Quixote of La Mancha, for whom, by the disposition of 
heaven above, it is reserved to give a happy issue to 
this adventure " ; and so saying he drew his sword 
and began making passes in the air at the millers, 
who, hearing but not understanding all this nonsense, 
strove to stop the boat, which was now getting into 
the rushing channel of the wheels. Sancho fell on 
his knees devoutly appealing to Heaven to deliver him 
from such imminent peril ; which it did by the activity 
and quickness of the millers, who, pushing against the 



J^^^^^TT- 




IN THE ENCHANTED BARK 



Chapter XX 183 

boat with their poles, stopped it, not, however, with- 
out upsetting it and throwing Don Quixote and Sancho 
into the water ; and lucky it was for Don Quixote that 
he could swim like a goose, though the weight of his 
armor carried him twice to the bottom. The millers 
plunged in and hoisted them both out, and more 
drenched than thirsty, they were landed. The fisher- 
men, the owners of the boat, which the mill-wheels 
had knocked to pieces, now came up, and seeing it 
smashed they proceeded to demand payment for it 
from Don Quixote ; but he with great calmness, just 
as if nothing had happened him, told the millers and 
fishermen that he would pay for the bark most cheer- 
fully, on condition that they delivered up to him, free 
and unhurt, the person or persons that were in durance 
in that castle of theirs. 

" What persons or what castle art thou talking of, 
madman?" said one of the millers; " art thou for 
carrying off the people who come to grind corn in 
these mills?" 

"That's enough," said Don Quixote to himself, "it 
would be preaching in the desert to attempt by en- 
treaties to induce this rabble to do any virtuous action. 
In this adventure two mighty enchanters must have 
encountered one another, and one frustrates what the 
other attempts ; one provided the bark for me, and 
the other upset me ; God help us. this world is all 
machinations and schemes at cross purposes one with 
the other. I can do no more." And then turning 
towards the mills he said aloud, " Friends, whoe'er ye 
be that are immured in that prison, forgive me that, 



1 84 



Don Quixote 



to my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver you from 
your misery ; this adventure is doubtless reserved and 
destined for some other knight." 

So saying he settled with the fishermen, and paid 
fifty reals for the boat, which Sancho handed to them 
very much against the grain, saying, " With a couple 
more bark businesses like this we shall have sunk our 
whole capital." 

The fishermen and the millers stood staring in 
amazement at the two figures, so very different to 
all appearance from ordinary men, and were wholly 
unable to make out the drift of the observations and 
questions Don Quixote addressed to them > and com- 
ing to the conclusion that they were madmen, they left 
them and betook themselves, the millers to their mills, 
and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote and 
Sancho returned to their beasts, and this was the end 
of the adventure of the enchanted bark. 



CHAPTER XXI 

OF THE HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS 

ABSORBED in his thoughts Don Quixote had 
not proceeded above half a league from the 
. river when raising his head, he perceived a 
cart covered with royal flags coming along the road 
they were travelling ; and persuaded that this must 
be some new adventure, he called aloud to Sancho 
to come and bring him his helmet. 

As Sancho approached, Don Quixote exclaimed to 
him, " Give me that helmet, my friend, for either I 
know little of adventures, or what I observe yonder is 
one that will, and does, call on me to arm myself." 

Sancho, on hearing this, looked in all directions, but 
could perceive nothing, except a cart coming towards 
them with two or three small flags, which led him to 
conclude it must be carrying treasure of the king's, 
and he said so to Don Quixote. He, however, would 
not believe him, being always persuaded and convinced 
that all that happened to him must be adventures and 
still more adventures ; so he replied, " He who is pre- 
pared has his battle half fought ; nothing is lost by 
my preparing myself, for I know by experience that 
I have, enemies, visible and invisible, and I know not 
when, or where, or at what moment, or in what shapes 
they will attack me." 



i86 



Don Quixote 



Don Quixote put on his helmet, and settling himself 
firmly in his stirrups, easing his sword in the scabbard, 
and grasping his lance, he cried, " Now, come who 
will, here am I, ready to try conclusions with Satan 
himself in person ! " 

By this time the cart with the flags had come up, 
unattended by any one except the carter on a mule, 
and a man sitting in front. Don Quixote planted 
himself before it and -said, " Whither are you going, 
brothers ? What cart is this ? What have you got in 
it ? What flags are those ? " 

To this the carter replied, " The cart is mine ; what 
is in it is a pair of fine caged lions, which the governor 
of Oran is sending to court as a present to his Majesty ; 
and the flags are our lord the King's, to show that what 
is here is his property." 

" And are the lions large?" asked Don Quixote. 

"So large," replied the man who sat at the door of 
the cart, " that larger, or as large, have never crossed 
from Africa to Spain ; I am the keeper, and I have 
brought over others, but never any like these. They 
are male and female ; the male is in that first cage 
and the female in the one behind, and they are hun- 
gry now, for they have eaten nothing to-day, so let 
your worship stand aside, for we must make haste to 
the place where we are to feed them." 

Hereon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed, 
" Get down, my good fellow, and as you are the 
keeper open the cages, and turn me out those beasts, 
and in the midst of this plain I will let them know 
who Don Quixote of La Mancha is, in spite and 



Chapter XXI 187 

in the teeth of the enchanters who sent them to 
me." 

At this instant Sancho came up, saying to the keeper 
of the lions, " Seiior, for God's sake do something to 
keep my master, Don Quixote, from tackling these 
lions ; for if he does they'll tear us all to pieces here." 

"Sancho," said Don Quixote, "you leave this busi- 
ness to me"; and then turning to the keeper he 
exclaimed : — 

" By all that's good, Sir Scoundrel, if you don't open 
the cages this very instant, I'll pin you to the cart with 
this lance." 

The carter, seeing the determination of this appari- 
tion in armor, said to him, " Please your worship, for 
charity's sake, senor, let me unyoke the mules and 
place myself in safety along with them before the lions 
are turned out ; for if they kill them on me I am 
ruined for life, for all I possess is this cart and 
mules." 

"O man of little faith," replied Don Quixote, ''get 
down and unyoke ; you will soon see that you are 
exerting yourself for nothing, and that you might have 
spared yourself the trouble." 

The carter got down and with all speed unyoked the 
mules, and the keeper called out at the top of his 
voice, " I call all here to witness that against my will 
and under compulsion I open the cages and let the 
lions loose, and that I warn this gentleman that he will 
be accountable for all the harm and mischief which 
these beasts may do, and for my salary and dues as 
well." Then speaking to the carter and Sancho he 



1 88 Don Quixote 

said, "You, gentlemen, place yourselves in safety 
before I open, for I know they will do me no 
harm." 

Sancho, with tears in his eyes, entreated his master 
to give up an enterprise compared with which all the 
feats he had attempted in the whole course of his life, 
were cakes and fancy bread. " Look ye, sefior," said 
Sancho, " there's no enchantment here, nor anything 
of the sort, for between the bars and chinks of the 
cage I have seen the paw of a real lion, and judging 
by that I reckon the lion such a paw could belong to 
must be bigger than a mountain." 

a Fear, at any rate," replied Don Quixote, "will 
make him look bigger to thee than half the world. 
Retire, Sancho, and leave me ; and if I die here thou 
knowest our old compact ; thou wilt repair to Dulcinea 
— I say no more." And renewing his commands to 
the keeper and repeating his threats, he gave warning 
to Sancho to spur his Dapple, and the carter his mules, 
and both strove to get away from the cart as far as 
they could before the lions broke loose. Sancho was 
weeping over his master's death, for this time he firmly 
believed it was in store for him from the claws of the 
lions ; and he cursed his fate and called it an unlucky 
hour when he thought of taking service with him ; 
but with all his tears and lamentations he did not 
forget to thrash Dapple so as to put a good space 
between himself and the cart. The keeper, seeing 
that the fugitives were now some distance off, once 
more entreated and warned Don Quixote as he had 
entreated and warned him before ; but he replied that 







DON QUIXOTE BRAVING THE LION 



Chapter XXI 189 

he heard him, and that he need not trouble himself 
with any further warnings or entreaties, as they would 
be fruitless, and bade him make haste. 

During the delay that occurred while the keeper 
was opening the first cage, Don Quixote was consider- 
ing whether it would not be well to do battle on foot, 
instead of on horseback, and finally resolved to fight 
on foot, fearing that Rocinante might take fright at 
the sight of the lions ; he therefore sprang off his 
horse, flung his lance aside, braced his buckler on 
his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced slowly with 
marvellous intrepidity and resolute courage, to plant 
himself in front of the cart, commending himself with 
all his heart, first to God, and then to his lady 
Duicinea. 

The keeper, seeing that Don Quixote had taken up 
his position, and that it was impossible for him to 
avoid letting out the male without incurring the enmity 
of the fiery and daring knight, flung open the doors of 
the first cage, containing, as has been said, the lion, 
which was now seen to be of enormous size, and grim 
and hideous mien. The first thing he did was to 
turn round in the cage in which he lay, and protrude 
his claws, and stretch himself thoroughly ; he next 
opened his mouth, and yawned very leisurely, and 
with near two palms'-length of tongue that he had 
thrust forth, he licked the dust out of his eyes and 
washed his face ; having done this, he put his head 
out of the cage and looked all round with eyes like 
glowing coals, a spectacle and demeanor to strike 
terror into temerity itself. Don Quixote merely ob- 



190 Don Quixote 

served him steadily, longing for him to leap from the 
cart and come to close quarters with him, when he 
hoped to hew him in pieces. 

So far did his unparalleled madness go; but the 
noble lion, more courteous than arrogant, not troubling 
himself about silly bravado, after having looked all 
round, as has been said, turned about and presented 
his hind-quarters to Don Quixote, and very coolly and 
tranquilly lay down again in the cage. Seeing this, 
Don Quixote ordered the keeper to take a stick to 
him and provoke him to make him come out. 

"That I won't," said the keeper; "for if I anger 
him, the first he'll tear in pieces will be myself. Be 
satisfied, Sir Knight, with what you have done, which 
leaves nothing more to be said on the score of courage, 
and do not seek to tempt fortune a second time. The 
lion has the door open ; he is free to come out or not 
to come out : but as he has not come out so far, he 
will not come out to-day. The greatness of your 
worship's courage has been fully manifested already ; 
no brave champion, so it strikes me, is bound to do 
more than challenge his enemy and wait for him on 
the field ; if his adversary does not come, on him lies 
the disgrace, and he who waits for him carries off the 
crown of victory." 

" That is true," said Don Quixote ; "close the door, 
my friend, and let me have, in the best form thou 
canst, what thou hast seen me do, by way of certifi- 
cate ; to wit, that thou didst open for the lion, that I 
waited for him, that he did not come out, that I still 
waited for him, and that still he did not come out, 



Chapter XXI 191 

and lay down again. I am not bound to do more ; 
enchantments avaunt, and God uphold the right, the 
truth, and true chivalry ! Close the door as I bade 
thee, while I make signals to the fugitives that have 
left us, that they may learn this exploit from thy lips." 

The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, fixing on 
the point of his lance his kerchief, proceeded to re- 
call the others, who still continued to fly, looking 
back at every step. Sancho, how r ever, happening to 
observe the signal, exclaimed, " May I die, if my 
master has not overcome the w T ild beasts, for he is 
calling to us." 

They stopped, and perceived that it was Don 
Quixote who was making signals, and shaking off 
their fears to some extent, they approached slowly 
until they were near enough to hear distinctly Don 
Quixote's voice calling to them. They returned at 
length to the cart, and as they came up, Don Quixote 
said to the carter, " Put your mules to once more, 
brother, and continue your journey; and do thou. 
Sancho, give him two gold crowns for himself and the 
keeper, to compensate for the delay they have incurred 
through me." 

"That will I give with all my heart," said Sancho : 
" but what has become of the lions ? Are they dead 
or alive?" 

The keeper, then, in full detail, and bit by bit, 
described the end of the contest, exalting to the 
best of his power and ability the valor of Don Quixote, 
at the sight of whom the lion quailed, and would not 
and dared not come out of the cage, although he had 



192 Don Quixote 

held the door open ever so long ; and showing how, 
in consequence of his having represented to the 
knight that it was tempting God to provoke the lion 
in order to force him out, which he wished to have 
done, he very reluctantly, and altogether against his 
will, had allowed the door to be closed. 

" What dost thou think of this, Sancho? " said Don 
Quixote. " Are there any enchantments that can pre- 
vail against true valor? The enchanters may be able 
to rob me of good fortune, but of fortitude and 
courage they cannot." 

Sancho paid the crowns, the carter put to, the 
keeper kissed Don Quixote's hands for the bounty 
bestowed on him, and promised to give an account 
of the valiant exploit to the king himself, as soon as 
he saw him at court. 

The cart went its way, and Don Quixote and 
Sancho went theirs. 



CHAPTER XXII 

OF THE FREEDOM DON QUIXOTE CONFERRED ON SEV- 
ERAL UNFORTUNATES WHO AGAINST THEIR WILL 
WERE BEING CARRIED WHERE THEY HAD NO WISH 
TO GO 

THEY had not proceeded more than two leagues 
on their journey when Don Quixote raised his 
eyes and saw coming along the road he was 
following some dozen men on foot strung together by 
the neck, like beads on a great iron chain, and all 
with manacles on their hands. With them there came 
also three men on horseback and two on foot ; the 
leader with a musket, the others with javelins and 
swords, and as soon as Sancho saw them he said, " That 
is a chain of galley slaves, on the way to the galleys 
by force of the king's orders." 

" How by force ? " asked Don Quixote : " is it pos- 
sible that the king uses force against any one, and 
that these people are going where they are taking 
them by force and not of their own will?" 

" Just so," said Sancho. 

" Then if so," said Don Quixote, " here is a case 
for the exercise of my office, to put down force and to 
succor and help the wretched." 

" Recollect, your worship," said Sancho, "Justice, 
o i93 



194 Don Quixote 

which is the king himself, is not doing wrong to such 
persons, but punishing them for their crimes." 

The chain of galley slaves had by this time come 
up, and Don Quixote in very courteous language asked 
those who were in custody of it to be good enough to 
tell him the reason or reasons for which they were 
conducting these people in this manner. One of the 
guards on horseback answered that they were galley 
slaves belonging to his majesty, that they were going 
to the galleys, and that was all that was to be said and 
all he had any business to know. 

" Nevertheless," replied Don Quixote, " I should 
like to know from each of them separately the reason 
of his misfortune " ; to this he added more to the 
same effect to induce them to tell him what he wanted 
so civilly that the other mounted guards said to him : 

" Though we have here the register and certificate 
of the sentence of every one of these wretches, this is 
no time to take them out or read them ; come and 
ask themselves; they can tell if they choose, and they 
will, for these fellows take a pleasure in doing and 
talking about rascalities." 

With this permission, which Don Quixote would 
have taken even had they not granted it, he ap- 
proached the chain and asked the first for what 
offences he was now in such a sorry case. 

He made answer that it was for being a lover. 

" For that only?" replied Don Quixote; "why if 
for being lovers they send people to the galleys I 
might have been rowing in them long ago." 

" The love is not the sort your worship is thinking 



Chapter XXII 195 

of," said the galley slave; " mine was that I loved a 
washerwoman's basket of clean linen so well, and held 
it so close in my embrace, that if the arm of the law 
had not forced it from me, I should never have let it 
go of my own will to this moment ; I was caught in 
the act, the case was settled, they treated me to a 
hundred lashes on the back, and three years of gal- 
leys besides, and that was the end of it." 

Don Quixote asked the same question of the second, 
who made no reply, so downcast and melancholy was 
he ; but the first answered for him, and said, " He, 
sir, goes as a musician and a singer." 

" What ! " said Don Quixote, " for being musicians 
and singers do people go to the galleys too? " 

But one of the guards said to him, " Sir, to sing 
under suffering means with the criminal fraternity 
to confess under torture ; they put this sinner to the 
torture, and he confessed his crime, which was being 
a cattle-stealer, and on his confession they sentenced 
him to six years in the galleys, besides two hundred 
lashes that he has already had on the back ; and he 
is always dejected and downcast because the other 
thieves that march here ill-treat, and snub, and jeer, 
and despise him for confessing and not having spirit 
enough to say nay ; and to my thinking they are not 
very far out." 

" And I think so too," answered Don Quixote ; then 
passing on to the third he asked him what he had 
asked the others, and the man answered very readily : 
" I am here because I carried the joke too far with a 
couple of cousins of mine. I got no favor, I had no 



196 Don Quixote 

money. I was near having my neck stretched, they 
sentenced me to the galleys for six years ; I am a 
young man ■ let life only last, and with that all will 
come right." This one was in the dress of a student, 
and one of the guards said he was a great talker and a 
very elegant Latin scholar. 

Behind all these there came a man of thirty, a very 
personable fellow, except that when he looked his 
eyes turned in a little one towards the other. He was 
bound differently from the rest, for he had to his leg 
a chain so long that it was wound all round his body, 
and two rings on his neck, from which hung two irons 
reaching to his waist with two manacles fixed to them 
in which his wrists were secured by a big padlock, so 
that he could neither raise his hands to his mouth nor 
lower his head to his hands. Don Quixote asked why 
this man carried so many more chains than the others. 
The guard replied that it was because he alone had 
committed more crimes than all the rest put together, 
and was so daring and such a villain, that though they 
marched him in that fashion they did not feel sure of 
him, but were in dread of his making his escape. 

"He goes for ten years," said the guard, " and all 
that need be said is that this good fellow is the fa- 
mous Gines de Pasamonte, otherwise called Ginesillo 
de Parapilla." 

" Gently, Senor Commissary," said the galley slave 
at this. " let us have no fixing of names or surnames ; 
my name is Gines, not Ginesillo, and my family name 
is Pasamonte, not Parapilla as you say ; let each one 
mind his own business, and he will be doing enough." 



Chapter XXII 197 

The commissary lifted his staff to strike Pasamonte, 
but Don Quixote came between them, and begged 
him not to ill-use him. as it was not too much to al- 
low one who had his hands tied to have his tongue a 
trifle free : and turning to the whole chain of them 
he said. " From all you have told me. dear brethren, 
I make out clearly that though they have punished 
vou for your faults, the punishments you are about to 
endure do not give you much pleasure, and that you 
go to them very much against the grain and against 
your will, and that perhaps this one's want of courage 
under torture, that one's want of money, the other's 
want of advocacy, and lastly the perverted judgment 
of the judge may have been the cause of your ruin 
and of your failure to obtain the justice you had on 
your side. All which presents itself now to my mind, 
urging, persuading, and even compelling me to demon- 
strate in your case the purpose for which Heaven sent 
me into the world and caused me to make profession 
of the order of chivalry to which I belong, and the 
vow I took therein to give aid to those in need and 
under the oppression of the strong. But as I know 
that it is a mark of prudence not to do by foul means 
what may be done by fair, I will ask these gentlemen. 
the guards and commissary, to be so good as to release 
you and let you go in peace, as there will be no lack 
of others to serve the king under more favorable cir- 
cumstances.'* 

" Nice nonsense ! " said the commissary : " a line 
piece of pleasantry he has come out with at last 1 He 
wants us to let the king's prisoners go, as if we had 



198 Don Quixote 

any authority to release them, or he to order us to do 
so ! Go your way, sir, and good luck to you ; put 
that basin straight that you've got on your head, and 
don't go looking for five feet on a cat." 

" Tis you that are the cat, rat, and rascal," replied 
Don Quixote, and acting on the word he fell on him 
so suddenly that without giving him time to defend 
himself he brought him to the ground sorely wounded 
with a lance-thrust ; and lucky it was for Don Quixote 
that it was the one that had the musket. 

The other guards stood thunderstruck and amazed 
at this unexpected event, but recovering presence of 
mind, those on horseback seized their swords, and 
those on foot their javelins, and attacked Don Qui- 
xote, who was waiting for them with great calmness ; 
and no doubt it would have gone badly with him if 
the galley slaves seeing the chance before them of 
liberating themselves had not effected it by contriving 
to break the chain on which they were strung. Such 
was the confusion, that the guards, now rushing at the 
galley slaves who were breaking loose, now to attack 
Don Quixote who was waiting for them, did nothing 
at all that was of any use. Sancho, on his part, gave 
a helping hand to release Gines de Pasamonte, who 
was the first to leap forth on the plain free and unfet- 
tered, and who, attacking the prostrate commissary, 
took from him his sword and the musket, with which, 
aiming at one and levelling at another, he, without 
ever discharging it, drove every one of the guards off 
the field, for they took to flight, as well to escape Pas- 
amonte's musket, as the showers of stones the now 






Chapter XXII 199 

released galley slaves were raining on them. Sancho 
was greatly grieved at the affair, because he antici- 
pated that those who had fled would report the matter 
to the Holy Brotherhood, who at the summons of the 
alarm-bell would at once sally forth in quest of the 
offenders ; and he said so to his master, and entreated 
him to leave the place at once, and go into hiding in 
the sierra that was close by. 

"That is all very well," said Don Quixote, "but I 
know what must be done now " ; and calling together 
all the galley slaves, he collected them round him to 
hear what he had to say, and addressed them as fol- 
lows : " To be grateful for benefits received is the 
part of persons of good birth, and one of the sins 
most offensive to God is ingratitude ; I say so be- 
cause, sirs, ye have already seen by manifest proof 
the benefit ye have received of me ; in return for 
which I desire, and it is my good pleasure that, laden 
with that chain which I have taken off your necks, ye 
at once set out and proceed to the city of El Toboso, 
and there present yourselves before the lady Dulcinea 
del Toboso, and say to her that her knight, he of the 
Rueful Countenance, sends to commend himself to 
her; and that ye recount to her in full detail all the 
particulars of this notable adventure, up to the re- 
covery of your longed-for liberty ; and this done ye 
may go where ye will, and good fortune attend you." 

Gines de Pasamonte made answer for all, saying, 
" That which you, sir, our deliverer, demand of us, is 
of all impossibilities the most impossible to comply 
with, because we cannot go together along the roads, 



200 Don Quixote 

but only singly and separate, and each one his own 
way, endeavoring to hide ourselves in the bowels of 
the earth to escape the Holy Brotherhood, which, no 
doubt, will come out in search of us. What your 
worship may do, and fairly do, is to change this ser- 
vice and tribute as regards the lady Dulcinea del 
Toboso for a certain quantity of ave-marias and cre- 
dos which we will say for your worship's intention, 
and this is a condition that can be complied with by 
night as well as by day, running or resting, in peace or 
in war ; but to imagine that we are going now to re- 
turn to the flesh-pots of Egypt, I mean to take up our 
chain and set out for El Toboso, is like asking pears 
of the elm tree." 

"Then by all that's good," said Don Quixote (now 
stirred to wrath), " Don Ginesillo de Paropillo, or what- 
ever your name is, you will have to go yourself alone, 
and the whole chain on your back." 

Pasamonte, who was anything but meek (being by 
this time thoroughly convinced that Don Quixote was 
not quite right in his head as he had committed such 
a vagary as trying so set them free), finding himself 
abused in this fashion, gave the wink to his compan- 
ions, and falling back they began to shower stones on 
Don Quixote at such a rate that he was quite unable 
to protect himself with his buckler, and poor Roci- 
nante no more heeded the spur than if he had been 
made of brass. Sancho planted himself behind his 
ass, and with him sheltered himself from the hailstorm 
that poured on both of them. Don Quixote was un- 
able to shield himself so well but that more pebbles 



Chapter XXII 201 

than I could count struck him full on the body with 
such force that they brought him to the ground ; 
and the instant he fell the student pounced on him, 
snatched the basin from his head, and with it struck 
three or four blows on his shoulders, and as many 
more on the ground, knocking it almost to pieces. 
They then stripped him of a jacket that he wore over 
his armor, and they would have stripped off his stock- 
ings if his greaves had not prevented them. From 
Sancho they took his coat, leaving him in his shirt- 
sleeves ; and dividing among themselves the remaining 
spoils of the battle, they went each one his own way, 
more solicitous about keeping clear of the Holy 
Brotherhood they dreaded, than about burdening 
themselves with the chain, or going to present them- 
selves before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. 

The ass and Rocinante, Sancho and Don Quixote, 
were all that were left on the spot; the ass with 
drooping head, serious, shaking his ears from time to 
time as if he thought the storm of stones that assailed 
them was not yet over \ Rocinante stretched beside 
his master, for he too had been brought to the ground 
by a stone ; Sancho stripped, and trembling with fear 
of the Holy Brotherhood • and Don Quixote fuming 
to find himself so served by the very persons for whom 
he had done so much. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

OF WHAT EEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE SIERRA MO 
RENA, WHICH WAS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVEN- 
TURES RELATED IN THIS VERACIOUS HISTORY. 

SEEING himself served in this way, Don Quixote 
said ::- his squire, "I have alw;---s h-;rh i: saii. 
Sancho, that to do good to boors is to u 
into the sea. If I had believed thy words, I 
should have avoided this trouble ; but i: is done now, 
it is only to have patience and take warning from this 
for the future-" 

u Your worship will take warning as much as I am 
a Turk." returne I Sancho : ,; but. as you say this mis- 
chief might have been avoided if you had believed 
me, believe me now, and a still ± :ea:er one will be 
avoided ; for I tell you chivalry is of no account with 
the Holy Brotherhood, and they don't care two maia- 
vedis for all the knights-errant in the world ; and I 
can tell you I fancy I hear their arrows whistling past 
my ears this minute." 

" Thou art a coward by nature. Sane 
Quixote, " but lest thou shouldst say I am obstinate, 
and that I never do as thou dost advise, this once I 
will take thy advice 3 and withdraw :a: of reach of 
that fury thou . ; :> dreadest ; but it must be on one 

202 



Chapter XXIII 203 

condition, that never, in life or in death, thou art to 
say to any one that I retired or withdrew from this 
danger out of fear, but only in compliance with thy 
entreaties." 

"Senor," replied Sancho, "to retire is not to flee, 
and there is no wisdom in waiting when danger out- 
weighs hope, and it is the part of wise men to pre- 
serve themselves to-day for to-morrow, and not risk 
all in one day ; and let me tell you, though I am a 
clovrn and a boor, I have some notion of what they 
call safe conduct : so repent not of having taken my 
advice, but mount Rocinante and follow me." 

Don Quixote mounted without replying, and, Sancho 
leading the way on his ass, they entered the side of the 
Sierra Morena, which was close by, as it was Sancho's 
design to hide for some days among its crags so as 
to escape the search of the Brotherhood should they 
come to look for them. He was encouraged in this 
by perceiving that the stock of provisions carried by 
the ass had come safe out of the fray with the galley 
slaves, a circumstance that he regarded as a miracle, 
seeing how they pillaged and ransacked. 

That night they reached the very heart of the Sierra 
Morena, where it seemed prudent to Sancho to pass 
the night and even some days, at least as many as the 
stores he carried might last, and so without dismount- 
ing they stopped to wait for morning between two 
rocks among some cork trees ; but fatal destiny, 
which directs, arranges, and settles everything in its 
own way, so ordered it that Gines de Pasamonte, 
the famous knave and thief who by the virtue and 



204 Don Quixote 

madness of Don Quixote had been released from the 
chain, resolved to take hiding in the mountains ; and 
his fate and fear led him to the same spot to which 
•Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had been led by 
theirs, just in time to recognize them and leave them 
to fall asleep : and as the wicked are always ungrate- 
ful, Gines made up his mind to steal Sancho Panza's 
ass, not troubling himself about Rocinante, as being a 
prize that was no good either to pledge or sell. 

Now Don Quixote and Sancho had ensconced them- 
selves in a thicket between two rocks as has been said, 
the master leaning on his lance and Sancho seated on 
his Dapple. Bothered and weary with the day's exer- 
tions, they fell asleep as if it had been on four feather 
beds. Sancho, in particular slept so soundly, that 
Gines was able to come and prop him up on four 
stakes, which he put under the four corners of the 
pack-saddle in such a way that he left the worthy 
squire mounted on it, and took away Dapple from 
under him without awakening him. Before day came 
Gines and the ass were far out of reach. 

Aurora made her appearance bringing gladness to 
the earth, but sadness to Sancho Panza, for the moment 
he stretched himself the stakes gave way, and he fell 
to the ground with a mighty come-down. As soon as 
he found that his Dapple was missing, he began the 
saddest and most doleful lament in the world, so loud 
that Don Quixote awoke at his exclamations and 
heard him saying, "O my children's plaything, my 
wife's joy, the envy of my neighbors, relief of my bur- 
dens, and, lastly, half supporter of myself, for with the 




GINES DE PASSAMONTE STEALING DAPPLE 



Chapter XXIII 205 

six-and-twenty maravedis thou didst earn me daily I 
met half my charges." 

Don Quixote, when he heard the lament and learned 
the cause, consoled Sancho with the best arguments 
he could, entreating him to be patient, and promising 
to give him a letter of exchange ordering three out of 
five ass-colts that he had at home to be given to him. 
Sancho took comfort at this, dried his tears, suppressed 
his sobs, and returned thanks for the kindness shown 
him. 

Don Quixote on his part was rejoiced to the heart 
on entering the mountains, as they seemed to him 
to be just the place for the adventures he was in 
quest of. They brought back to his memory the 
marvellous adventures that had befallen knights- errant 
in like solitudes and wilds, and he went along reflect- 
ing on these things, so absorbed and carried away by 
them that he had no thought for anything else. Nor 
had Sancho any other care (now that he fancied he 
was travelling in a safe quarter) than to satisfy his 
appetite with such remains as were left of the clerical 
spoils, and so he marched behind his master laden 
with what Dapple used to carry, emptying the sack 
and packing his paunch ; and so long as he could go 
that way, he would not have given a farthing to meet 
with another adventure. 

While so engaged he raised his eyes and saw that 
his master had halted, and was trying with the point 
of his pike to lift some bulky object that lay on the 
ground, on which he hastened to join him and help 
him if it were needful, and reached him just as with 



2o6 Don Quixote 

the point of the pike he was raising a saddle-pad with 
a valise attached to it. half or rather wholly rotten and 
torn : but so heavy were they that Sancho had to help 
to take them up, and his master directed him to see 
what the valise contained. Sancho did so with great 
alacrity, and though the valise was secured by a chain 
and padlock, from its torn and rotten condition he 
was able to see its contents, which were four shirts of 
fine holland, and other articles of linen, and in a 
handkerchief he found a good lot of gold crowns, and 
as soon as he saw them he exclaimed, " Blessed be all 
Heaven for sending us an adventure that is good for 
something ! " 

Searching further he found a little memorandum 
book, richly bound : this Don Quixote asked of him, 
telling him to take the money and keep it for himself. 
Sancho kissed his hands for the favor, and cleared the 
valise of its linen, which he stowed away in the provi- 
sion sack. Considering the whole matter, Don Qui- 
xote observed, " It seems to me, Sancho, that some 
stray traveller must have crossed this sierra and been 
attacked and slain by foot-pads, who brought him to 
this remote spot to bury him." 

•"That cannot be," answered Sancho, '''because if 
they had been robbers they would not have left this 
money." 

"Thou art right," said Don Quixote, " and I cannot 
guess or explain what this may mean : but stay ; let 
us see if in this memorandum book there is anything 
written by which we may be able to trace out or dis- 
cover what we want to know." 



Chapter XXIII 20 



/ 



He opened it, but the pages were blank. 

Sancho examined the valise, not leaving a corner in 
the whole of it or in the pad that he did not search, 
peer into, and explore, or seam that he did not rip, or 
tuft of wool that he did not pick to pieces, lest any- 
thing should escape for want of care and pains ; so 
keen was the covetousness excited in him by the 
discovery of the crowns, which amounted to near a 
hundred ; and though he found no more booty, he 
held the blanket flights, balsam vomits, stake bene- 
dictions, carriers' fisticuffs, missing alforjas, stolen coat, 
and all the hunger, thirst, and weariness he had en- 
dured in the service of his good master, cheap at the 
price ; as he considered himself more than fully 
indemnified for all by the payment he received in 
the gift of the treasure-trove. 

The Knight of the Rueful Countenance was still 
very anxious to find out who the owner of the valise 
could be, but as in that uninhabited and rugged spot 
there was no one to be seen of whom he could inquire, 
he saw nothing else for it but to push on, taking what- 
ever road Rocinante chose — which was where he 
could make his way — firmly persuaded that among 
these wilds he could not fail to meet some rare ad- 
venture. As he went along, then, occupied with these 
thoughts, he perceived on the summit of a height that 
rose before their eyes a man who went springing from 
rock to rock and from tussock to tussock with mar- 
vellous agility. As well as he could make out he had 
a thick black beard, long tangled hair, and bare legs 
and feet, while his thighs were covered by breeches 



208 Don Quixote 

apparently of tawny velvet but so ragged that they 
showed his skin in several places. He was bare- 
headed, and notwithstanding the swiftness with which 
he passed, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance 
observed and noted all these trifles, and though he 
made the attempt, he was unable to follow him, 
for it was not granted to the feebleness of Roci- 
nante to make way over such rough ground, he being, 
moreover, slow-paced and sluggish by nature. Don 
Quixote at once came to the conclusion that this was 
the owner of the saddle-pad and of the valise, and 
made up his mind to go in search of him, even though 
he should have to wander a year in those mountains 
before he found him, and so he directed Sancho to 
take a short cut over one side of the mountain, while 
he himself went by the other, and perhaps by this 
means they might light on this man who had passed 
so quickly out of their sight. 

"I could not do that," said Sancho, " for when I 
separate from your worship fear at once lays hold of 
me, and assails me with all sorts of panics and fancies ; 
and let what I now say be a notice that from this time 
forth I am not going to stir a finger's length from your 
presence." 

" It shall be so," said he of the Rueful Countenance, 
" and I am very glad that thou art willing to rely on 
my courage, which will never fail thee, even though 
the soul in thy body fail thee ; so come on now be- 
hind me slowly as well as thou canst, and make lan- 
terns of thine eyes ; let us make the circuit of this 
ridge : perhaps we shall find this man that we saw^ 



Chapter XXIII 209 

who no doubt is no other than the owner of what we 
found." 

To which Sancho made answer, " Far better would 
it be not to look for him, for if we find him, and he 
happens to be the owner of the money, it is plain I 
must restore it ; it would be better, therefore, that 
without taking this needless trouble, I should keep 
possession of it until in some other less meddlesome 
and officious way the real owner may be discovered ; 
and perhaps that will be when I shall have spent it." 

" Thou art wrong there, Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
" for now that we have a suspicion who the owner is, 
and have him almost before us, we are bound to seek 
him and make restitution ; and if we do not seek him, 
the strong suspicion we have as to his being the owner 
makes us as guilty as if he were so ; and so, friend 
Sancho, let not our search for him give thee any un- 
easiness, for if we find him it will relieve mine." 

So saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and Sancho 
followed him on foot, and after having partly made 
the circuit of the mountain they found lying in a ravine, 
dead and half devoured by dogs and pecked by 
crows, a mule saddled and bridled, all which still 
further strengthened their suspicion that he who had 
fled was the owner of the mule and the saddle-pad. 

As they stood looking at it they heard a whistle like 
that of a shepherd watching his flock, and suddenly 
on their left there appeared a great number of goats, 
and behind them on the summit of the mountain the 
goatherd in charge of them, a man advanced in years. 
Don Quixote called aloud to him and begged him 



210 Don Quixote 

to come down to where they stood. He shouted in 
return, asking what had brought them to that spot, 
seldom or never trodden except by the feet of goats, 
or of the wolves and other wild beasts that roamed 
around. Sancho in return bade him come down, and 
they would explain all to him. 

The goatherd descended, and reaching the place 
where Don Quixote stood, he said, " I will wager you 
are looking at that hack mule that lies dead in the 
hollow there, and, faith, it has been lying there now 
these six months ; tell me, have you come on its 
master about here?" 

" We have come on nobody," answered Don Quixote, 
" nor on anything except a saddle-pad and a little valise 
that we found not far from this." 

"I found it too," said the goatherd, " but I would 
not lift it nor go near it for fear of some ill-luck or 
being charged with theft, for the devil is crafty, and 
things rise up under one's feet to make one stumble 
and fall without knowing why or wherefore." 

"Tell me, good man," said Don Quixote, "do you 
know who is the owner of this property?" 

"All I can tell you," said the goatherd, "is that 
about six months ago, more or less, there arrived at 
a shepherd's hut three leagues away from this, a 
youth of well-bred appearance and manners mounted 
on that same mule which lies dead here, and with the 
same saddle -pad and valise which you say you found. 
He asked us what part of this sierra was the most 
rugged and retired ; we told him that it was where 
we now are ; and so in truth it is, for if you push on 



Chapter XXIII 211 

half a league farther, perhaps you will not be able to 
find your way out ; and I am wondering how you have 
managed- to come here, for there is no road or path 
that leads to this spot. I say, then, that on hearing 
our answer the youth turned about and made for the 
place we pointed out to him, leaving us wondering at 
his question and the haste with which we saw him 
depart in the direction of the sierra ; and after that 
we saw him no more, until some days afterwards he 
crossed the path of one of our shepherds, and without 
saying a word to him, came up to him and gave him 
several cuffs and kicks, and then turned to the ass 
with our provisions and took all the bread and cheese 
it carried, and having done this made off back again 
into the sierra with extraordinary swiftness. When 
some of us goatherds learned this we went in search 
of him for about two days through the most remote 
portion of this sierra, at the end of which we found 
him lodged in the hollow of a large thick cork tree. 

" He came out to meet us with great gentleness, 
with his dress now torn and his face so disfigured and 
burned by the sun, that we hardly recognized him. 
He saluted us courteously, and in a few well-spoken 
words he told us not to wonder at seeing him going 
about in this guise, as it was binding on him in order 
that he might work out a penance which for his many 
sins had been imposed on him. We asked him to tell 
us who he was, but we were never able to find out from 
him : we begged of him too, when he was in want of 
food, which he could not do without, to tell us where 
we should find him, as we would bring it to him with 



212 Don Quixote 

all good- will and readiness ; or if this were not to his 
taste, at least to come and ask it of us and not take 
it by force from the shepherds. He thanked us for 
the offer, begged pardon for the late assault, and 
promised for the future to ask it in God's name with- 
out offering violence to anybody. As for fixed abode, 
he said he had no other than that which chance 
offered wherever night might overtake him. 

" In the midst of his conversation he stopped and 
became silent, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground 
for some time, during which we stood still waiting 
anxiously to see what would come of this abstraction; 
and with no little pity, for from his behavior, we could 
perceive plainly that a fit of madness of some kind had 
come on him ; and before long he showed that what 
we imagined was the truth, for he arose in a fury from 
the ground where he had thrown himself, and attacked 
the first he found near him with such rage and fierce- 
ness that if we had not dragged him off, he would 
have beaten or bitten him to death, all the while ex- 
claiming, ' O faithless Fernando, here, here shalt thou 
pay the penalty of the wrong thou hast done me ; these 
hands shall tear out that heart of thine, abode and 
dwelling of all iniquity,' and to these he added other 
words all in effect upbraiding this Fernando and 
charging him with treachery and faithlessness. We 
forced him to release his hold with no little difficulty, 
and without another word he left us, and rushing off 
plunged in among these brakes and brambles, so as 
to make it impossible for us to follow him ; from this 
we suppose that madness comes on him from time to 






Chapter XXIII 213 

time, and that some one called Fernando must have 
done him a wrong of a grievous nature. All this has 
been since then confirmed on those occasions, and 
they have been many, on which he has crossed our 
path, at one time to beg the shepherds to give him 
some of the food they carry, at another to take it 
from them by force ; for when there is a fit of mad- 
ness on him, even though the shepherds offer it freely, 
he will not accept it but snatches it from them by 
dint of blows ; but when he is in his senses he begs 
it for the love of God, courteously and civilly, and 
receives it with many thanks and not a few tears. 

"And to tell you the truth, sirs," continued the goat- 
herd, " it was yesterday that we resolved, I and four 
of the lads, two of them our servants, and the other 
two friends of mine, to go in search of him until we 
find him, and when we do to take him, whether by 
force or of his own consent, to the town of Almod6var, 
which is eight leagues from this, and there strive to 
cure him (if indeed his malady admits of a cure), or 
learn when he is in his senses who he is, and if he 
has relatives to whom we may give notice of his mis- 
fortune. 7 ' 

Don Quixote was filled with amazement at what 
he heard from the goatherd, and more eager than 
ever to discover who the unhappy madman was; 
and in his heart he resolved, as he had done before, 
to search for him all over the mountain, not leaving 
a corner or cave unexamined until he had found him. 
But chance arranged matters better than he expected 
or hoped, for at that very moment, in a gorge on the 



214 Don Quixote 

mountain that opened where they stood, the youth he 
wished to find made his appearance. Approaching 
them, the youth greeted them in a harsh and hoarse 
voice but with great courtesy. Don Quixote returned 
his salutation with equal politeness, and dismounting 
from Rocinante advanced with well-bred bearing and 
grace to embrace him, and held him for some time 
close in his arms as if he had known him for a long 
time. The other, whom we may call the Ragged One 
of the Sorry Countenance, as Don Quixote was of the 
Rueful, after submitting to the embrace pushed him 
back a little and, placing his hands on Don Quixote's 
shoulders, stood gazing at him as if seeking to see 
whether he knew him, not less amazed, .perhaps, at 
the sight of the face, figure, and armor of Don Quixote 
than Don Quixote was at the sight of him. To be brief, 
the first to speak after embracing was the Ragged One, 
and he said what will be told farther on. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE 
SIERRA MORENA 

IT was with the greatest attention that Don Quixote 
listened to the ill-starred Knight of the Sierra, who 
began by saying : " Of a surety, sefior, whoever 
you are, for I know you not, I thank you for the 
proofs of kindness and courtesy you have shown me, 
and would I were in a condition to requite with some- 
thing more than good- will that which you have dis- 
played towards me in the cordial reception you have 
given me ; but my fate does not afford me any other 
means of returning kindnesses done me save the hearty 
desire to repay them." 

" Mine," replied Don Quixote, " is to be of service 
to you, so much so that I had resolved not to quit 
these mountains until I had found you, and learned 
of you whether there is any kind of relief to be found 
for that sorrow under which from the strangeness of 
your life you seem to labor. And if ray good inten- 
tions deserve to be acknowledged with any kind of 
courtesy, I entreat yon, sefior, to tell me who you are 
and the cause that has brought you to live or die in 
these solitudes like a brute beast, dwelling among 
them in a manner so foreign to your condition as 

215 



21 6 Don Quixote 

your garb and appearance show. And I swear," 
added Don Quixote, " by the order of knighthood 
which I, though unworthy and a sinner, have received, 
and by my vocation of knight- errant, if you gratify 
me in this, to serve you with all the zeal my calling 
demands of me, either in relieving your misfortune if 
it admits of relief, or in joining you in lamenting it." 

The Knight of the Thicket, hearing him of the 
Rueful Countenance talk in this strain, did nothing 
but stare at him, and stare at him again, and again 
survey him from head to foot ; and when he had 
thoroughly examined him, he said to him, " If you 
have anything to give me to eat, for God's sake give it 
me, and after I have eaten I will do all you ask in 
acknowledgment of the good- will you have displayed 
towards me." 

Sancho from his sack, and the goatherd from his 
pouch, furnished the Ragged One with the means of 
appeasing his hunger, and what they gave him he ate 
like a half-witted being, so hastily that he took no 
time between mouthfuls, gorging rather than swallow- 
ing ; and while he ate neither he nor they who ob- 
served him uttered a word. As soon as he had done 
he made signs to them to follow him, which they did, 
and he led them to a green plat which lay a little 
farther off round the corner of a rock. On reaching 
it he stretched himself on the grass, and the others 
did the same, all keeping silence, until the Ragged 
One, settling himself in his place, said, " If it is your 
wish, sirs, that I should disclose in a few words the 
surpassing extent of my misfortunes, you must promise 



Chapter XXIV 217 

not to break the thread of my sad story with any 
question or other interruption, for the instant you do 
so the tale I tell will come to an end." 

Don Quixote gave the promise for himself and the 
others, and with this assurance he began as follows : — 

" My name is Cardenio, my birthplace one of the 
best cities of this Andalusia, my family noble, my 
parents rich. In that same country there was a 
heaven in which love had placed all the glory I could 
desire ; such was the beauty of Luscinda, a damsel as 
noble and as rich as I, but of less firmness than was 
due to so worthy a passion as mine. This Luscinda I 
loved, worshipped, and adored from my earliest and 
tenderest years, and she loved me in all the innocence 
and sincerity of childhood. 

" Our parents were aware of our feelings, and were 
not sorry to perceive them, for they saw clearly that 
as they ripened they must lead at last to a marriage 
between us, a thing that seemed almost prearranged 
by the equality of our families and wealth. We grew 
up, and with our growth grew the love between us, so 
that at length growing impatient, I resolved to ask 
her of her father for my lawful wife, which I did. To 
this his answer was that he thanked me for the dispo- 
sition I showed to do honor to him and to regard 
myself as honored by the bestowal of his treasure ; 
but that as my father was alive it was his by right 
to make this demand, for if it were not in accordance 
with his full will and pleasure, Luscinda w r as not to be 
taken or given by stealth. I thanked him for his 



2i 8 Don Quixote 

kindness, reflecting that there was reason in what he 
said, and that my father would assent to it as soon as 
I should tell him, and with that view I went the very 
same instant to let him know what my desires were. 
When I entered the room where he was I found him 
with an open letter in his hand, which, before I could 
utter a word, he gave me, saying, ' By this letter thou 
wilt see, Cardenio, the disposition the Duke Ricardo 
has to serve thee.' 

"This Duke Ricardo, as you, sirs, probably know 
already, is a grandee of Spain who has his seat in 
the best part of this Andalusia. I took and read 
the letter, which was couched in terms so flattering 
that even I myself felt it would be wrong in my 
father not to comply with the request the duke made 
in it, which was that he would send me imme- 
diately to him, as he wished me to become the com- 
panion of his eldest son, and would take on himself 
the charge of placing me in a position corresponding 
to the esteem in which he held me. On reading the 
letter my voice failed me, and still more when I 
heard my father say, ' Two days hence thou wilt de- 
part, Cardenio, in accordance with the duke's wish, 
and give thanks to God who is opening a road to thee 
by which thou mayest attain what I know thou dost 
deserve ' ; and to these words he added others of 
fatherly counsel. 

" The time for my departure arrived ; I spoke one 
night to Luscinda, I told her all that had occurred, as 
I did also her father, entreating him to allow some 
delay, and to defer the disposal of her hand until I 






Chapter XXIV 219 

should see what the Duke Ricardo sought of me : he 
gave me the promise, and she confirmed it with vows 
and swoonings unnumbered. Finally I presented my- 
self to the duke, and was received and treated by him 
so kindly that very soon envy began to do its w T ork, 
the old servants growing envious of me, and regarding 
the duke's inclination to show me favor as an injury 
to themselves. But the one to whom my arrival gave 
the greatest pleasure was the duke's second son, Fer- 
nando by name, a gallant youth, of noble, generous, 
and amorous disposition; who very soon made so inti- 
mate a friend of me that it was remarked by every- 
body ; for though the elder was attached to me, and 
showed me kindness, he did not carry his affectionate 
treatment to the same length as Don Fernando. It 
so happened, then, that as the intimacy I enjoyed 
with Don Fernando had grown into friendship, he 
made all his thoughts known to me, and in particular 
a love affair which troubled his mind a little. He was 
deeply in love with a peasant girl. I strove by the 
best arguments and the most forcible examples I 
could think of to restrain and dissuade him ; but per- 
ceiving I produced no effect I resolved to make the 
Duke Ricardo, his father, acquainted with the matter; 
but Don Fernando, being sharp-witted and shrewd, 
foresaw and apprehended this, and so, to mislead and 
deceive me, he told me he could find no better way 
of effacing from his mind the beauty that so enslaved 
him than by absenting himself for some months, and 
that he wished the absence to be effected by our 
going, both of us, to my father's house under the pre- 



2 20 Don Quixote 

tence, which he would make to the duke, of going to 
see and buy some fine horses that were in my city. 
When I heard him say so, even if his resolution had not 
been so good a one I should have hailed it as one of 
the happiest that could be imagined, seeing what a fa- 
vorable chance and opportunity it offered me of return- 
ing to see my Luscinda. With this thought and wish I 
commended his idea and encouraged his design, advis- 
ing him to put it into execution as quickly as possible. 
" The duke gave him permission, and ordered me to 
accompany him ; we arrived at my city, and my father 
gave him the reception due to his rank ; I saw Luscinda 
without delay, and, though it had not been dead or 
deadened, my love gathered fresh life. To my sor- 
row I told the story of it to Don Fernando, I extolled 
her beauty, her gayety, her wit, so warmly, that my 
praises excited in him a desire to see a damsel adorned 
by such attractions. To my misfortune I yielded to 
it, showing her to him one night by the light of a taper 
at a window where we used to talk to one another. As 
she appeared to him in her dressing-gown, she drove 
all the beauties he had seen until then out of his recol- 
lection ; speech failed him, his head turned, he was 
spell-bound, and in the end love-smitten, and to in- 
flame still further his passion, which he hid from me 
and revealed to Heaven alone, it so happened that one 
day he found a note of hers entreating me to demand 
her of her father in marriage, so delicate, so modest, 
and so tender, that on reading it he told me that in 
Luscinda alone were combined all the charms of beauty 
and understanding that were distributed among all the 



Chapter XXIV 221 

other women in the world. It is true, and I own it now, 
that though I knew what good cause Don Fernando 
had to praise Luscinda, it gave me uneasiness to hear 
these praises from his mouth, and I began to fear, and 
with reason to feel distrust of him. Don Fernando 
contrived always to read the letters I sent to Luscinda 
and her answers to me under the pretence that he 
enjoyed the wit and sense of both. It so happened, 
then, that Luscinda having begged of me a book of 
chivalry to read, one that she was very fond of, ' Ama- 
disofGaur— " 

Don Quixote no sooner heard a book of chivalry 
mentioned, than he said, " Had your worship told me 
at the beginning of your story that the lady Luscinda 
was fond of books of chivalry, no other laudation 
would have been requisite to impress on me the supe- 
riority of her understanding, for it could not have been 
of the excellence you describe had a taste for such 
delightful reading been wanting; so, as far as I am 
concerned, you need waste no more words in describ- 
ing her beauty, worth, and intelligence : for, on merely 
hearing what her taste was, I declare her to be the 
most beautiful and the most intelligent woman in the 
world; — but pardon me for having broken the prom- 
ise we made not to interrupt your discourse ; for when 
I hear chivalry or knights-errant mentioned, I can no 
more help talking about them than the rays of the sun 
can help giving heat, or those of the moon moisture ; 
pardon me, therefore, and proceed, for that is more to 
the purpose now." 



222 Don Quixote 

While Don Quixote was saying this, Cardenio allowed 
his head to fall on his breast, and seemed plunged in 
deep thought ; and though twice Don Quixote bade 
him go on with his story, he neither looked up nor 
uttered a word in reply; but after some time he 
raised his head and said, " I cannot get rid of the idea, 
nor will any one in the world remove it, or make me 
think otherwise, — and he would be a blockhead who 
would hold or believe anything else than that that 
arrant knave Master Elisabad had eloped with Count- 
ess Madasima." 

" That is not true, by all that's good," said Don Qui- 
xote in high wrath, turning on him angrily, as his way 
was ; " and whoever maintains the contrary lies like a 
great scoundrel, and I will give him to know it, on 
foot or on horseback, armed or unarmed, by night or 
by day, or as he likes best." 

Cardenio was looking at him steadily, and his mad 
fit having now come on him, he had no disposition to 
go on with his story, nor would Don Quixote have 
listened to it, so much had what he had heard about 
Madasima disgusted him. Cardenio, then, being, as I 
said, now mad, when he heard himself given the lie, 
and called a scoundrel and other insulting names, not 
relishing the jest, snatched up a stone that he found 
near him, and with it delivered such a blow on Don 
Quixote's breast that he laid him on his back. Sancho 
Panza, seeing his master treated in this fashion, attacked 
the madman ; but the Ragged One received him in such 
a way that with a blow of his fist he stretched him at 
his feet ; the goatherd, who came to the rescue, shared 






Chapter XXIV 223 

the same fate ; and having beaten and pommelled 
them all he left them and quietly withdrew to his hid- 
ing-place on the mountain. Sancho rose, and with 
the rage he felt at finding himself so belabored with- 
out deserving it, ran to take vengeance on the goatherd, 
accusing him of not giving them warning that this man 
w r as at times taken with a mad fit, for if they had 
known it they would have been on their guard to pro- 
tect themselves. The goatherd replied that he had 
said so, and that if he had not heard him, that was no 
fault of his. Sancho retorted, and the goatherd re- 
joined, and the altercation ended in their seizing each 
other by the beard, and exchanging such fisticuffs that 
if Don Quixote had not made peace between them, 
they would have knocked one another to pieces. 
" Leave me alone, Sir Knight of the Rueful Counte- 
nance," said Sancho, grappling with the goatherd, " for 
of this fellow, who is a clown like myself, and no 
dubbed knight, I can safely take satisfaction for the 
affront he has offered me, fighting with him hand to 
hand like an honest man." 

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "but I know 
that he is not to blame for what has happened." 

With this he pacified them, and again asked the 
goatherd if it would be possible to find Cardenio, as 
he felt the greatest anxiety to know the end of his 
story. The goatherd told him, as he had told him 
before, that there was no knowing of a certainty where 
his lair was ; but that if he wandered about much in 
that neighborhood he could not fail to fall in with him 
either in or out of his senses. 



CHAPTER XXV 

WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE THINGS THAT HAP- 
PENED TO THE STOUT KNIGHT OF LA MANCHA IN 
THE SIERRA MORENA, AND OF HIS IMITATION OF 
THE PENANCE OF BELTENEBROS 

DON QUIXOTE took leave of the goatherd, 
and once more mounting Rocinante, bade 
Sancho follow him, which he, having no ass, 
did very discontentedly. They proceeded slowly, 
making their way into the most rugged part of the 
mountain, Sancho all the while dying to have a talk 
with his master, and longing for him to begin, so that 
there should be no breach of the injunction laid on 
him ; but unable to keep silence so long he said to 
him, " Senor Don Quixote, give me your worship's 
blessing and dismissal, for I'd like to go home at once 
to my wife and children with whom I can at any rate 
talk and converse as much as I like ; for to want me 
to go through these solitudes day and night and not 
speak to you when I have a mind is burying me 
alive. If luck would have it that animals spoke as 
they did in the days of iEsop it would not be so bad, 
because I could talk to Rocinante about whatever 
came into my head, and so put up with my ill- fortune ; 
but.it is a hard case, and not to be borne with patience, 
to go seeking adventures all one's life and get nothing 

224 



Chapter XXV 225 

but kicks and blanketings, brickbats and punches, and 
with all this to have to sew up one's mouth without 
daring to say what is in one's heart, just as if one were 
dumb." 

" I understand thee, Sancho," replied Don Quixote ; 
" thou art dying to have the interdict I placed on 
thy tongue removed ; consider it removed, and say 
what thou wilt, on condition that the removal is not 
to last longer than while we are wandering in these 
mountains." 

"So be it," said Sancho ; "let me speak now, for 
God knows what will happen by-and-by ; and to take 
advantage of the permit at once, I ask, is it a good 
rule of chivalry that we should go astray through these 
mountains without path or road, looking for a mad- 
man who when he is found will perhaps take a fancy 
to finish what he began, not his story, but your wor- 
ship's head and my ribs, and end by breaking them 
altogether for us ? " 

" Peace, I say again, Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
" for let me tell thee it is not so much the desire of 
finding that madman that leads me into these regions 
as that which I have of performing among them an 
achievement wherewith I shall win eternal name and 
fame throughout the known world ; and it shall be 
such that I shall thereby set the seal on all that can 
make a knight-errant perfect and famous." 

"And is it very perilous, this achievement?" asked 
Sancho. 

"No," replied he of the Rueful Countenance; 
" though all will depend on thy diligence." 
Q 



226 Don Ouixote 

" On my diligence ! " said Sancho. 

"Yes," said Don Quixote, " for if thou dost return 
soon from the place where I mean to send thee, my 
penance will be soon over, and my glory will soon 
begin. But as it is not right to keep thee any longer 
in suspense, waiting to see what comes of my words, 
I would have thee know, Sancho, that the famous 
Amadis of Gaul was the pole-star, day-star, sun of 
valiant and devoted knights, whom all we who fight 
under the banner of love and chivalry are bound to 
imitate. Now one of the instances in which this 
knight most conspicuously showed his prudence, 
worth, valor, patience, fortitude, and love, was when 
he withdrew, rejected by the lady Oriana, to do pen- 
ance on Mont St. Michel, changing his name into that 
of Beltenebros, 1 a name assuredly significant and ap- 
propriate to the life which he had voluntarily adopted. 
So, as it is easier for me to imitate him in this than in 
cleaving giants asunder, cutting off serpents' heads, 
slaying dragons, routing armies, destroying fleets, and 
breaking enchantments, and as this place is so well 
suited for a similar purpose, I must not allow the oppor- 
tunity to escape which now so conveniently offers." 

"What is it in reality," said Sancho, " that your 
worship means to do in such an out-of-the-way place 
as this? " 

"Have I not told thee," answered Don Quixote, 
"that I mean to imitate Amadis here, playing the 
victim of despair, the madman, the maniac?" 

"It seems to me," said Sancho, "that the knights 

1 Beltenebros ; means "fair-obscure." 



Chapter XXV 227 

who behaved in this way had provocation and cause 
for those follies and penances • but what cause has 
your worship for going mad? What lady has rejected 
you?" 

" There is the point," replied Don Quixote, " and 
that is the beauty of this business of mine ; no thanks 
to a knight-errant for going mad when he has a cause ; 
the thing is to turn crazy without any provocation, and 
to let my lady know, if I do this in the dry, what I 
would do in the moist; moreover I have abundant 
cause in the long separation I have endured from my 
lady till death, Dulcinea del Toboso ; and so, friend 
Sancho, waste no time in advising me against so rare, 
so happy, and so unheard-of an imitation ; mad I am, 
and mad I must be until thou returnest with the 
answer to a letter that I mean to send by thee to my 
lady Dulcinea. But tell me, Sancho, hast thou got 
Mambrino's helmet safe ; for I saw thee take it up 
from the ground when that wretch tried to break it in 
pieces but could not, by which the fineness of its 
temper may be seen? " 

To which Sancho made answer, " By the living God, 
Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, I cannot en- 
dure or bear with patience some of the things that 
your worship says. I have the basin in my sack all 
dinted, and I am -taking it home to have it mended, 
to trim my beard in it, if, by God's grace, I am 
allowed to see my wife and children some day or 
other." 

"Look here, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " by him 
thou didst swear by just now I swear thou hast the 



228 Don Quixote 

most limited understanding that any squire in the 
world has or ever had. Is it possible that all this time 
thou hast been going about with me thou hast never 
found out that all things belonging to knights-errant 
seem to be illusions and nonsense and ravings, and to 
go always by contraries? Rare foresight it was in the 
sage who is on my side to make what is really and 
truly Mambrino's helmet seem a basin to everybody, 
for, being held in such estimation as it is, all the world 
would pursue me to rob me of it ; but when they see 
it is only a barber's basin they do not take the trouble 
to obtain it." 

Thus talking they reached the foot of a high moun- 
tain which stood like an isolated peak among the 
others that surrounded it. Past its base there flowed 
a gentle brook, all around it spread a meadow so green 
and luxuriant that it was a delight to the eyes to look 
on it, and forest trees in abundance, and shrubs and 
flowers, added to the charms of the spot. On this 
place the Knight of the Rueful Countenance fixed his 
choice for the performance of his penance, and as he 
beheld it exclaimed in a loud voice as though he were 
out of his senses, " This is the place, O ye heavens, 
that I select and choose for bewailing the misfortune 
in which ye yourselves have plunged me ; this is the 
spot where the overflowings of mine eyes shall swell 
the waters of yon little brook, and my deep and end- 
less sighs shall stir unceasingly the leaves of these 
mountain trees, in testimony and token of the pain 
my persecuted heart is suffering. O ye rural deities, 
whoever ye be that haunt this lone spot, give ear to 



Chapter XX 229 

the complaint of a wretched lover whom long absence 
and brooding jealousy have driven to bewail his fate 
among these wilds and complain of the hard heart of 
that fair and ungrateful one, the end and limit of all 
human beauty ! O Dulcinea del Toboso, day of my 
night, glory of my pain, guide of my path, star of my 
fortune, so may Heaven grant thee in full all thou 
seekest of it, bethink thee of the condition to which 
absence from thee has brought me, and make that 
return that is due to my fidelity ! O thou, my 
squire, pleasant companion in my prosperous and 
adverse fortunes, fix well in thy memory what thou 
shalt see me do here, so that thou may est relate and 
report it to the sole cause of all," and so saying he 
dismounted from Rocinante, and in an instant relieved 
him of saddle and bridle, and giving him a slap, said, 
" He gives thee freedom who is bereft of it himself, 
O steed as excellent in deed as thou art unfortunate 
in thy lot ; begone where thou wilt." 

Seeing this Sancho said, " Sir Knight of the Rueful 
Countenance, if my departure and your worship's 
madness are to come off in earnest, it will be as well 
to saddle Rocinante again in order that he may sup- 
ply the want of Dapple, because it will save me time 
in going and returning ; for if I go on foot I don't 
know when I shall get there or when I shall get back, 
as I am, in truth, a bad walker." 

"-1 declare, Sancho," returned Don Quixote, "it 
shall be as thou wilt, for thy plan does not seem to 
me a bad one, and three days hence thou wilt depart, 
for I wish thee to observe in the meantime what I do 



230 Don Quixote 

and say for her sake, that thou mayest be able to tell 
it." 

" But what more have I to see besides what I have 
seen?" said Sancho. 

" Much thou knowest about it ! " said Don Quixote. 
" I have now got to tear up my garments, to scatter 
about my armor, knock my head against these rocks, 
and more of the same sort of thing, which thou must 
witness." 

"For the love of God," said Sancho, " be careful, 
your worship, how you give yourself those knocks on 
the head, for you may come across such a rock, and 
in such a way, that the very first may put an end to 
the whole contrivance of this penance ; and I should 
think, if indeed knocks on the head seem necessary 
to you, and this business cannot be done without 
them, you might be content — as the whole thing is 
feigned, and counterfeit, and in joke — you might be 
content, I say, with giving them to yourself against 
something soft, like cotton. I beg of you, too, to 
reckon as past the three days you allowed me for see- 
ing the mad things you do, for I take them as seen 
already and pronounced on, and I will tell wonder- 
ful stories to my lady ; so write the letter and send 
me off at once, for I long to return and take your 
worship out of this purgatory where I am leaving you." 

" But how shall we manage to write the letter? " said 
he of the Rueful Countenance. 

"And the ass-colt order too," added Sancho. 

" All shall be included," said Don Quixote ; " and 
as there is no paper, it would be well done to write it 






Chapter XXV 231 

on the leaves of trees, as the ancients did. But it has 
just occurred to me how it may be conveniently writ- 
ten, and that is in the note-book that belonged to 
Cardenio, and thou wilt take care to have it copied on 
paper, in a good hand, at the first village thou comest 
to where there is a schoolmaster, or if not, any sacris- 
tan will copy it ; but see thou give it not to any notary 
to copy, for they„write a law hand that Satan could 
not make out." 

" But what is to be done about the signature?" said 
Sancho. 

"The letters of Amadis were never signed," said 
Don Quixote. 

" That is all very well," said Sancho, " but the order 
must needs be signed, and if it is copied they will say 
the signature is false, and I shall be left without ass- 
colts." 

" The order shall go signed in the same book," said 
Don Quixote, " and on seeing it my niece will make 
no difficulty about obeying it ; as to the love-letter, 
thou canst put by way of signature, 'Yours till death, 
the Knight of the Rueful Countenance' And it will 
be no great matter if it is in some other person's hand, 
for, as well as I recollect, Dulcinea can neither read nor 
write, nor in the whole course of her life has she seen 
handwriting or letter of mine, for my love and hers 
have been always platonic, not going beyond a modest 
look, and even that so seldom that I can safely swear 
I have not seen her four times in all these twelve years 
I have been loving her ; and perhaps even of those 
four times she has not once perceived that I was 



232 Don Quixote 

looking at her : such is the retirement and seclusion 
in which her father Lorenzo Corchuelo and her 
mother Aldonza Nogales have brought her up." 

" So, so ! " said Sancho ; " Lorenzo Corchuelo's 
daughter is the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, otherwise 
called Aldonza Lorenzo? " 

" She it is," said Don Quixote, " and she it is that 
is worthy to be lady of the universe." 

" I know her well," said Sancho, " and let me tell you 
she can fling a crowbar as well as the lustiest lad in 
all the town. Giver of all good ! but she is a brave 
lass, and a right and stout one, and fit to be helpmate 
to any knight-errant that is or is to be, who may make 
her his lady : the wench, what pith she has and what a 
voice ! I can tell you one day she posted herself on 
the top of the belfry of the village to call some laborers 
of theirs that were in a ploughed field of her father's, 
and though they were better than half a league off they 
heard her as well as if they were at the foot of the 
tower ; and the best of her is that she has plenty of 
affability, and jokes with everybody, and has a grin 
and a jest for everything. So, Sir Knight of the Rue- 
ful Countenance, I say you not only may and ought to 
do mad freaks for her sake, but you have a good right 
to give way to despair and hang yourself; and no one 
who knows of it but will say you did well, though the 
devil should take you ; and I wish I were on my road 
already, simply to see her, for it is many a day since 
I saw her, and she must be altered by this time, for 
going about the fields always, and the sun and the air 
spoil women's looks greatly. But I must own the truth 



Chapter XXV 233 

to your worship, Senor Don Quixote ; until now I 
have been under a great mistake, for I believed truly 
and honestly that the lady Dulcinea must be some prin- 
cess your worship was in love with, or some person 
great enough to deserve the rich presents you have 
sent her, such as the Biscayan and the galley slaves, 
and many more no doubt, for your worship must have 
won many victories in the time when I was not yet 
your squire. But all these things considered, what 
good can it do the lady Aldonza Lorenzo (I mean the 
lady Dulcinea del Toboso) to have the vanquished 
your worship sends or will send coming to her and 
going down on their knees before her? Because 
maybe when they came she'd be hackling flax or 
threshing on the threshing floor, and they'd be 
ashamed to see her, and she'd laugh, or resent the 
present." 

" I have before now told thee many times, Sancho," 
said Don Quixote, " that thou art a mighty great chat- 
terer, and that with a blunt wit thou art always striving 
at sharpness ; for all I want with Dulcinea del Toboso 
she is just as good as the most exalted princess on 
earth. It is not to be supposed that all those poets 
who sang the praises of ladies under the fancy names 
they give them, had any such mistresses. Thinkest 
thou that the Amaryllises, the Phillises, the Sylvias, the 
Dianas, and all the rest of them, that the books, 
the ballads, the barbers' shops, the theatres are 
full of, were really and truly ladies of flesh and 
blood, and mistresses of those that glorify and have 
glorified them ? Nothing of the kind \ they only 



234 Don Quixote 

invent them for the most part to furnish a subject 
for their verses, so it is enough for me to think and 
believe that the good Aldonza Lorenzo is fair and vir- 
tuous ; and as to her pedigree it is very little matter, 
for no one will examine into it, and I, for my part, 
reckon her the most exalted princess in the world. 
For thou shouldst know, Sancho, if thou dost not know, 
that two things alone beyond all others are incentives 
to love, and these are great beauty and a good name, 
and these two things' are to be found in Dulcinea in 
the highest degree. I persuade myself that all I say 
is as I say, neither more nor less, and I picture her in my 
imagination as I would have her to be, as well in beauty 
as in condition ; Helen approaches her not nor does 
Lucretia come up to her, nor any other of the famous 
women of times past, Greek, Barbarian, or Latin ; and 
let each say what he will, for if in this I am taken to 
task by the ignorant, I shall not be censured by the 
critical." 

"I say that your worship is entirely right," said 
Sancho, " and that I am an ass ; but now for the let- 
ter, and then, God be with you, I am ofT." 

Don Quixote took out the note-book, and, retiring 
to one side, very deliberately began to write the letter, 
and when he had finished it he called to Sancho, say- 
ing he wished to read it to him, so that he might 
commit it to memory, in case of losing it on the road ; 
for with evil fortune like his, anything might be appre- 
hended. To which Sancho replied, " Write it two or 
three times there in the book and give it to me, and 
I will carry it very carefully, because to expect me to 









Chapter XXV 235 

keep it in my memory is all nonsense, for I have such 
a bad one that I often forget my own name ; but for 
all that repeat it to me, as I shall like to hear it, for 
surely it will run as if it was in print." 

" Listen/' said Don Quixote, " this is what it says : 

" Sovereign and exalted Lady, — The pierced by the 
point of absence, the wounded to the heart's core, 
sends thee, sweetest Dulcinea del Toboso, the health 
that he himself enjoys not. If thy beauty despises me, 
if thy worth is not for me, if thy scorn is my affliction, 
though I be sufficiently long-suffering, hardly shall I 
endure this anxiety, which, besides being oppressive, 
is protracted. My good squire Sancho will relate to 
thee in full, fair ingrate, dear enemy, the condition to 
which I am reduced on thy account : if it be thy 
pleasure to give me relief, I am thine ; if not, do as 
may be pleasing to thee ; for by ending my life I shall 
satisfy thy cruelty and my desire. 

" Thine till death, 
"The Knight of the Rueful Countenance." 

"By the life of my father," said Sancho, when he 
heard the letter, " it is the loftiest thing I ever heard. 
Body of me ! how your worship says everything as 
you like in it ! And how well you fit in ' The Knight 
of the Rueful Countenance ' into the signature. I de- 
clare your worship is indeed the very devil, and there 
is nothing you don't know." 

" Everything is needed for the calling I follow," 
said Don Quixote. 



236 Don Quixote 

"Now then/' said Sancho, "let your worship put 
the order for the three ass-colts on the other side, 
and sign it very plainly, that they may recognize it at 
first sight." 

" With all my heart," said Don Quixote, and as 
soon as he had written it he read it to this effect : 

"Mistress Niece, — Please pay to Sancho Panza, 
my squire, three of the rive ass-colts I left at home in 
your charge. Done in the heart of the Sierra Morena, 
the twenty-seventh of August of this present year." 

" That will do," said Sancho ; " now let me go and 
saddle Rocinante, and be ready to give me your bless- 
ing, for I mean to go at once without seeing the fool- 
eries your worship is going to do ; I'll say I saw you 
do so many that she will not want any more." 

" At any rate, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " I should 
like — and there is reason for it — I should like thee, 
I say, to see me performing a dozen or two of insani- 
ties, which I can get done in less than half an hour ; 
for having seen them with thine own eyes, thou canst 
then safely swear to the rest that thou wouldst add ; 
and I promise thee thou wilt not tell of as many as I 
mean to perform." 

"But apart from all this," said Sancho, "what has 
your worship to eat until I come back? Will you 
sally out on the road like Cardenio to force it from 
the shepherds? " 

" Let not that anxiety trouble thee," replied Don 
Quixote, " for even if I had it I should not eat any 




DON QUIXOTE DOING PENANCE IN THE SIERRA MORENA 



Chapter XXV 237 

thing but the herbs and the fruits which this meadow 
and these trees may yield me; the beauty of this busi- 
ness of mine lies in not eating, and in performing 
other mortifications." 

" Do you know what I am afraid of ? " said San- 
cho on this ; " that I shall not be able to find my way 
back to this spot where I am leaving you, it is such an 
out-of-the-way place." 

" Observe the landmarks well," said Don Quixote, 
" for I will try not to go far from this neighborhood, 
and I will even take care to mount the highest of these 
rocks to see if I can discover thee returning ; how- 
ever, not to miss me and lose thyself, the best plan 
will be to cut some branches of the broom that is so 
abundant about here, and as thou goest to lay them at 
intervals until thou hast come out on the plain ; these 
will serve thee as marks and signs for finding me on 
thy return." 

" So I will," said Sancho Panza, and having cut 
some, he asked his master's blessing, and not without 
many tears on both sides took his leave of him, and 
mounting Rocinante, of whom Don Quixote charged 
him earnestly to have as much care as of his own per- 
son, he set out for the plain, strewing at intervals the 
branches of broom as his master had recommended 
him ; and so he went his way, though Don Quixote 
still entreated him to see him do were it only a couple 
of mad acts. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE REFINEMENTS WHERE- 
WITH DON QUIXOTE PLAYED THE PART OF A LOVER 
IN THE SIERRA MORENA 

DON QUIXOTE climbed up to the top of a 
high rock, and there set himself to consider 
what he had several times before considered 
without ever coming to any conclusion on the point, 
namely whether it would be better and more to his 
purpose to imitate the outrageous madness of Roland, 
or the melancholy madness of Amadis ; and commun- 
ing with himself he said, " I see that Amadis of Gaul, 
without losing his senses and without doing anything 
mad, acquired as a lover as much fame as the most 
famous ; for, according to his history, on finding 
himself rejected by his lady Oriana, who had ordered 
him not to appear in her presence until it should be 
her pleasure, all he did was to retire to the Pena 
Pobre in company with a hermit, and there he took 
his fill of weeping until Heaven sent him relief in the 
midst of his great grief and need. And if this be 
true, as it is, why should I now take the trouble to do 
mischief to these trees which have done me no harm, 
or why am I to disturb the clear waters of these 
brooks which will give me to drink whenever I have 

238 



Chapter XXVI 239 

a mind ? Long live the memory of Amadis, and let 
him be imitated so far as is possible by Don Quixote 
of La Mancha, of whom it will be said, as was said of 
the other, that if he did not achieve great things, he 
died in attempting them ; and if I am not repulsed 
or rejected by my Dulcinea, it is enough for me, as 
I have said, to be absent from her. And so, now to 
business ; come to my memory ye deeds of Amadis, 
and show me how I am to begin to imitate you. I 
know already that what he chiefly did was to pray and 
commend himself to God ; but what am I to do for a 
rosary, for I have not one?" And then it occurred 
to him how he might make one, and that was by 
tearing a great strip off the tail of his shirt, and 
making eleven knots on it, one bigger than the rest, 
and this served him for a rosary all the time he was 
there, during which he repeated countless ave-marias. 
But what distressed him greatly was not having another 
hermit there to confess him and receive consolation 
from; and so he solaced himself with pacing up and 
down the little meadow, and writing and carving on 
the bark of the trees and on the fine sand a multitude 
of verses all in harmony with his sadness, and some 
in praise of Dulcinea. 

In this way, and in sighing and calling on the 
fauns and satyrs of the woods and the nymphs of the 
streams, and Echo, moist and mournful, to answer, 
console, and hear him, as well as in looking for herbs 
to sustain him, he passed his time until Sancho's 
return ; and had that been delayed three weeks, as it 
was three days, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance 



240 Don Quixote 

would have worn such an altered countenance that 
his own mother would not have known him : and 
here it will be well to leave him, wrapped up in sighs 
and verses, to relate how Sancho Panza fared on his 
mission. 

As for him, coming out on the high-road, he made 
for El Toboso, and the next day reached the inn 
where the mishap of the blanket had befallen him. 
As soon as he recognized it he felt as if he were once 
more flying through the' air, and he could not bring 
himself to enter it though it was an hour when he 
might well have done so, for it was dinner-time, and 
he longed to taste something hot, as it had been all 
cold fare with him for many days past. This craving 
drove him to draw near to the inn, still undecided 
whether to go in or not, and as he was hesitating 
there came out two persons who at once recognized 
him, and said one to the other, " Sefior Licentiate, is 
not he on the horse there Sancho Panza who, our 
adventurer's housekeeper told us, went off with her 
master as esquire? " 

"So it is," said the licentiate, "and that is our 
friend Don Quixote's horse " ; and if they knew him so 
well it was because they were the curate and the barber 
of his own village, the same who had carried out the 
scrutiny and sentence on the books ; and as soon as 
they recognized Sancho Panza and Rocinante, being 
anxious to hear of Don Quixote, they approached, 
and calling him by his name the curate said, " Friend 
Sancho Panza, where is your master?" 

Sancho recognized them at once, and determined 



Chapter XXVI 241 

to keep secret the place and circumstances where 
and under which he had left his master, so he replied 
that his master was engaged in a certain quarter on a 
certain matter of great importance to him, which he 
could not disclose for the eyes in his head. 

"Nay, nay," said the barber, "if you don't tell us 
where he is, Sancho Panza, we will suspect that you 
have murdered and robbed him, for here you are 
mounted on his horse 3 in fact, you must produce 
the master of the hack, or else take the conse- 
quences." 

" There is no need of threats with me," said Sancho, 
" for I am not a man to rob or murder anybody ; my 
master is engaged very much to his taste doing 
penance in the midst of these mountains " ; and then, 
offhand and without stopping, he told them how he 
had left him, what adventures had befallen him, and 
how he was carrying a letter to the lady Dulcinea del 
Toboso, the daughter of Lorenzo Corchuelo, with 
whom he was over head and ears in love. They were 
both amazed at what Sancho Panza told them ; for 
though they were aware of Don Quixote's madness 
and the nature of it, each time they heard of it they 
were filled with fresh wonder. They then asked 
Sancho Panza to show them the letter he was carrying 
to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. He said it was 
written in a note-book, and that his master's direc- 
tions were that he should have it copied on paper at 
the- first village he came to. On this the curate said 
if he showed it to him he himself would make a fair 
copy of it. Sancho put his hand into his bosom in 

R 



242 Don Quixote 

search of the note-book but could not find it, nor, if 
he had been searching until now, could he have found 
it, for Don Quixote had kept it, and had never given 
it to him, nor had he himself thought of asking for it. 
When Sancho discovered he could not find the book 
his face grew deadly pale, and in great haste he again 
felt his body all over, and seeing plainly it was not to 
be found, without more ado he seized his beard with 
both hands and plucked away half of it, and then, as 
quick as he could and without stopping, gave himself 
half a dozen cuffs on the face and nose. 

Seeing this the curate and the barber asked him 
what had happened him that he gave himself such 
rough treatment. 

" I have lost the note-book," said Sancho, " that 
contained the letter to Dulcinea, and an order signed 
by my master in which he directed his niece to give 
me three ass-colts out of four or five he had at 
home " ; and he then told them about the loss of 
Dapple. 

The curate consoled him, telling him that when his 
master was found he would get him to renew the 
order, and make a fresh draft on paper, as was usual 
and customary ; for those made in note-books were 
never accepted or honored. 

Sancho comforted himself with this, and said if that 
were so the loss of Dulcinea's letter did not trouble 
him much, for he had it almost by heart, and it could 
be taken down from him wherever and whenever they 
liked. 

"You speak like a man of sense," said the curate, 



Chapter XXVI 243 

" but what must now be done is to take steps to coax 
your master out of that useless penance you say he 
is performing ; and we had best turn into this inn to 
consider what plan to adopt, and also to dine, for it 
is now time." 

Sancho said they might go in, but that he would 
wait there outside, and that he would tell them after- 
wards the reason why he was unwilling, and why it did 
not suit him to enter it ; but he begged them to bring 
him out something to eat, and to let it be hot, and 
also to bring barley for Rocinante. They left him and 
went in, and presently the barber brought him out 
something to eat. By-and-by, after they had between 
them carefully thought over what they should do to 
carry out their object, the curate hit on an idea very 
well adapted to humor Don Quixote, and effect their 
purpose ; and his notion, which he explained to the 
barber, was that he himself should assume the disguise 
of a wandering damsel, while the other should try as 
best he could to pass for a squire, and that they should 
thus proceed to where Don Quixote was, and he, pre- 
tending to be an aggrieved and distressed damsel, 
should ask a favor of him, which as a valiant knight- 
errant he could not refuse to grant ; and the favor he 
meant to ask him was that he should accompany her 
whither she would conduct him, in order to redress a 
wrong which a wicked knight had done her, while at 
the same time she should entreat him not to require 
her to remove her mask, nor ask her any question 
touching her circumstances until he had righted her 
with the wicked knight. And he had no doubt that 



•» 



244 Don Quixote 

Don Quixote would comply with any request made in 
these terms, and that in this way they might remove 
him and take him to his own village, where they would 
endeavor to find out if his extraordinary madness 
admitted of any kind of remedy. 



CHAPTER XXVII 

OF HOW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER PROCEEDED 
WITH THEIR SCHEME ; TOGETHER WITH OTHER 
MATTERS WORTHY OF RECORD IN THIS GREAT 
HISTORY 

THE curate's plan did not seem a bad one to 
the barber, but on the contrary so good that 
they immediately set about putting it in execu- 
tion. They begged a petticoat and hood of the 
landlady, leaving her in pledge a new cassock of the 
curate's ; and the barber made a beard out of a red 
oxtail in which the landlord used to stick his comb. 
The landlady asked them what they wanted these 
things for, and the curate told her in a few words 
about the madness of Don Quixote, and how this 
disguise was intended to get him away from the 
mountain where he then was. The landlord and 
landlady immediately came to the conclusion that 
the madman was their guest, the balsam man and 
master of the blanketed squire, and they told the 
curate all that had passed between him and them, 
not omitting what Sancho had been so silent about. 
Finally the landlady dressed up the curate in a style 
thatTeft nothing to be desired ; she put on him a cloth 
petticoat with black velvet stripes a palm broad, and 

245 



246 Don Quixote 

a bodice of green velvet set off by a binding of white 
satin. The curate would not let them cover him with 
the hood, but put on his head a little quilted linen cap 
which he used for a night-cap, and bound his forehead 
with a strip of black silk, while with another he made 
a mask with which he concealed his beard and face 
very well. He then put on his hat, which was broad 
enough to serve him for an umbrella, and enveloping 
himself in his cloak seated himself woman-fashion on 
his mule, while the barber mounted his with a beard 
down to the waist. They took leave of all, and of the 
good Maritornes, who promised to pray a rosary of 
prayers that God might grant them success in such an 
arduous and Christian undertaking as that they had 
in hand. 

But hardly had he sallied forth from the inn when 
it struck the curate that he was doing wrong in 
rigging himself out in that fashion, as it was an in- 
decorous thing for a priest to dress himself that way 
even though much might depend on it ; and saying so 
to the barber he begged him to change dresses, as it 
was fitter he should be the distressed damsel, while 
he himself would play the squire's part, which would 
be less derogatory to his dignity ; otherwise he was 
resolved to have nothing more to do with the matter, 
and let the devil take Don Quixote. Just at this 
moment Sancho came up, and on seeing the pair in 
such a costume he was unable to restrain his laughter ; 
the barber, however, agreed to do as the curate wished, 
and, altering their plan, the curate went on to instruct 
him how to play his part and what to say to Don 



/ 



Chapter XXVII 247 

Quixote to induce and compel him to come with 
them and give up his fancy for the place he had 
chosen for his idle penance. The barber told him 
he could manage it properly without any instruction, 
and as he did not care to dress himself up until they 
were near where Don Quixote was, he folded up the 
garments, and the curate adjusted his beard, and they 
set out under the guidance of Sancho Panza, who 
went along telling them of the encounter with the 
madman they met in the sierra, saying nothing, how- 
ever, about the finding of the valise and its contents ; 
for with all his simplicity the lad was a trifle covetous. 
The next day they reached the place where Sancho 
had laid the broom- branches as marks to direct him 
to where he had left his master, and recognizing it he 
told them that here was the entrance, and that they 
would do well to dress themselves, if that was re- 
quired to deliver his master ; for they had already 
told him that going in this guise and dressing in this 
way were of the highest importance in order to rescue 
his master from the pernicious life he had adopted ; 
and they charged him strictly not to tell his master 
who they were, or that he knew them, and should he 
ask, as ask he would, if he had given the letter to 
Dulcinea, to say he had, and that, as she did not 
know how to write, she had given an answer by word 
of mouth, saying that she commanded him, on pain of 
her displeasure, to come and see her at once ; and it 
was a very important matter for himself, because in 
this way and with what they meant to say to him they 
felt sure of bringing him back to a better mode of 



248 Don Quixote 

life. Sancho said that it would be as well for him 
to go on before them to find him, and give him his 
lady's answer ; for that perhaps might be enough 
to bring him away from the place without putting 
them to all this trouble. They approved of what 
Sancho proposed, and resolved to wait for him until 
he brought back word of having found his master. 

Sancho pushed into the glens of the sierra, leaving 
them in one through which there flowed a little gentle 
rivulet, and where the rocks and trees afforded a cool 
and grateful shade. It was an August day with all 
the heat of one, and the heat in those parts is intense, 
and the hour was three in the afternoon, all which 
made the spot the more inviting and tempted them 
to wait there for Sancho's return, which they did. 
They were reposing, then, in the shade, when a voice 
unaccompanied by the notes of any instrument, but 
sweet and pleasing in its tone, reached their ears. 
And still more surprised were they when they per- 
ceived that what they heard sung were the verses, 
not of rustic shepherds, but of the polished wits of the 
city. 

The song ended with a deep sigh, and the listeners 
determined to find out who the unhappy being could 
be whose voice was as rare as his sighs were piteous, 
and they had not proceeded far when on turning the 
corner of a rock they discovered a man of the same 
aspect and appearance as Sancho had described to 
them when he told them the story of Cardenio. The 
curate, who recognized him by the description, being 
a man of good address, approached him and in a few 



Chapter XXVII 249 

sensible words entreated and urged him to quit a life 
of such misery. Cardenio was then in his right mind, 
free from any attack of that madness which so fre- 
quently carried him away, and he replied to them 
thus, " I see plainly, sirs, whoever you may be, that 
Heaven sends me, though I deserve it not, those who 
seek to draw me away from this to some better retreat, 
showing me by many and forcible arguments how un- 
reasonably I act in leading the life I do. If it be, sirs, 
that you are here with the same design as others have 
come with, before you proceed with your wise argu- 
ments, I entreat you to hear the story of my countless 
misfortunes, for perhaps when you have heard it you 
will spare yourselves the trouble you would take in 
offering consolation to grief that is beyond the reach 
of it." 

As they, both of them, desired nothing more than 
to hear from his own lips the cause of his suffering, 
they entreated him to tell it, promising not to do any- 
thing for his relief or comfort that he did not wish ; 
and thereon the unhappy gentleman began his sad 
story in nearly the same words and manner in which 
he had related it to Don Quixote and the goatherd a 
few days before, when, through Don Quixote's scrupu- 
lous observance o' what was due to chivalry, the tale 
was left unfinished, but now fortunately the mad fit 
kept off. and allowed him to tell it to the end ; and 
so, coming to the incident of the note which Don 
Fernando had found in the volume of " Amadis of 
Gaul;' : Cardenio said that he remembered it perfectly 
and that it was in these words : — 



250 Don Quixote 

" i Luscinda to Cardenio. 

" ' Every day I discover merits in you that compel 
me to hold you in higher estimation ; so if you desire 
to relieve me of this obligation, you may easily do so. 
I have a father who knows you and loves me dearly, 
who without putting any constraint on my inclination 
will grant what will be reasonable for you to have, if 
it be that you value me as you say and as I believe 
you do.' 

" By this letter Luscinda came to be regarded by 
Don Fernando as one of the most discreet and pru- 
dent women of the day, and this letter it was that 
suggested his design of ruining me. I told Don Fer- 
nando that all Luscinda's father was waiting for was 
that mine should ask her of him, which I did not dare 
to suggest to him, fearing that he would not consent to 
do so, because I was aware that he did not wish me 
to marry so soon, before seeing what the duke Ricardo 
would do for me. To this Don Fernando answered 
that he would take it on himself to speak to my 
father and persuade him to speak to Luscinda's father. 
Who could have thought that Don Fernando, a high- 
born gentleman, intelligent, bound to me by gratitude 
for my services, could have become so morbid, as they 
say, as to rob me of my one ewe lamb that was not 
even yet in my possession? 

" Don Fernando, finding my presence an obstacle 
to the execution of his treacherous and wicked design, 
resolved to send me to his elder brother under the 



Chapter XXVII 251 

pretext of asking money from him to pay for six 
horses which, purposely, and with the sole object of 
sending me away that he might the better carry out 
his infernal scheme, he had purchased the very day 
he offered to speak to my father, and the price of 
which he now desired me to fetch. 

" I reached the place whither I had been sent, gave 
the letter to Don Fernando 's brother, and was kindly 
received but not promptly dismissed, for he desired 
me to wait, very much against my will, eight days in 
some place where the duke his father was not likely 
to see me, as his brother wrote that the money was to 
be sent without his knowledge. But four days later 
there came a man in quest of me with a letter which 
he gave me, and which by the address I perceived to 
be from Luscinda, as the writing was hers. I opened 
the letter and read these words : — 

" 'The promise Don Fernando gave you to urge your 
father to speak to mine, he has fulfilled much more to 
his own satisfaction than to your advantage. He has 
demanded me for a wife, and my father, led away by 
what he considers Don Fernando's superiority over 
you, has favored his suit so cordially, that in two days 
hence the. betrothal is to take place with such secrecy 
and so privately that the only witnesses are to be the 
heavens above and a few of the household. The issue 
of the affair will show you whether I love you or not. 
God grant this may come to your hand before mine 
shall 'be forced to link itself with his who keeps so ill 
the faith tha&he has pledged.' 



252 )► Don Quixote 

" Such, in brief, were the words of the letter, words 
that made me set out at once without waiting any longer 
for reply or money. The exasperation I felt against 
Don Fernando, joined with the fear of losing the prize 
I had won by so many years of love and devotion, lent 
me wings ; so that almost flying I reached home the 
same day. I arrived unobserved, and left the mule 
on which I had come at the house of the worthy man 
who had brought me the letter, and fortune was pleased 
to be for once so kind that I found Luscinda at the grat- 
ing that was the witness of our loves. As soon as Lu- 
scinda saw me she said, ' Cardenio, I am in my bridal 
dress, and the treacherous Don Fernando and my 
covetous father are waiting for me in the hall with the 
other witnesses, who shall be the witnesses of my death 
before they witness my betrothal. Contrive to be 
present at this sacrifice, and if that cannot be prevented 
by my words, I have a dagger concealed which will 
prevent more deliberate violence.' 

" I replied to her distractedly and hastily. I think 
she could not have heard all my words, for I per- 
ceived that they called her away in haste, as the 
bridegroom was waiting. Reflecting how important it 
was that I should be present at what might take place 
on the occasion, I nerved myself as best I could and 
went in. With the confusion that pervaded the house, 
no one perceived me, and I found an opportunity of 
placing myself in the recess formed by a window con- 
cealed by two tapestries, from between which I could, 
without being seen, see all that took place in the 
room. The bridegroom entered the hall in his usual 



Chapter XXVII 253 

dress, without ornament of any kind ; as groomsman 
he had with him a cousin of Luscinda's, and except 
the servants of the house there was no one else in the 
chamber. Soon afterwards Luscinda came out from 
an ante-chamber, attended by her mother and two of 
her damsels, arrayed and adorned as became her 
rank and beauty, and in full festival and ceremonial 
attire. 

" All being assembled in the hall, the priest of the 
parish came in, and as he took the pair by the hand 
to perform the requisite ceremony, at the words, ' Will 
you, Sefiora Luscinda take Senor Don Fernando, here 
present, for your lawful husband, as the holy Mother 
Church ordains ? ' I thrust my head and neck out from 
between the tapestries, and with eager ears and throb- 
bing heart set myself to listen to Luscinda's answer, 
awaiting in her reply the sentence of death or the 
grant of life. 

" The priest stood waiting for the answer of Luscinda, 
who for a long time withheld it ; and just as I thought 
she was taking out the dagger to save her honor, or 
struggling for words to make some declaration of the 
truth on my behalf, I heard her say in a faint and fee- 
ble voice, ' I will ' ; Don Fernando said the same, and 
giving her the ring they stood linked by a knot that 
could never be loosed. The bridegroom then ap- 
proached to embrace his bride ; and she, pressing 
her hand on her heart, fell fainting in her mother's 
arms. They were all thrown into confusion by Lu- 
scinda's fainting, and as her mother was unlacing her 
to give her air a sealed paper was discovered in her 



254 Don Quixote 

bosom which Don Fernando seized at once and began 
to read by the light of one of the torches. As soon 
as he had read It he seated himself in a chair leaning 
his cheek on his hand in the attitude of one deep in 
thought, without taking any part in the efforts that were 
being made to recover his bride from her fainting fit. 

" Seeing all the household in confusion, I ventured to 
come out regardless whether I were seen or not, and 
I quitted the house and reached that of the man with 
whom I had left my mule ; I made him saddle it for 
me, mounted without bidding him farewell, and rode 
out of the city ; and when I found myself alone in 
the open country, screened by the darkness of the 
night, and tempted by the stillness to give vent to my 
grief without apprehension or fear of being heard or 
seen, then I broke silence and lifted up my voice in 
maledictions on Luscinda and Don Fernando, as if I 
could thus avenge the wrong they had done me. 

"Thus agitated, I journeyed onward for the re- 
mainder of the night, and by daybreak I reached 
one of the passes of these mountains, among which I 
wandered for three days more without taking any path 
or road, until I came to some meadows lying on I 
know not which side of the mountains, and there I 
inquired of some herdsmen in what direction the most 
rugged part of the range lay. They told me that it 
was in this quarter, and I at once directed my 
course hither, intending to end my life here ; but 
as I was making my way among these crags, my 
mule dropped dead through fatigue and hunger. I 
was worn out, famishing, without any one to help 



Chapter XXVII 255 

me or any thought of seeking help ; and I lay 
stretched on the ground, how long I know not, after 
which I rose up free from hunger, and found beside 
me some goatherds, who no doubt were the persons 
who had relieved me in my need, for they told me 
how they had found me, and how I had been uttering 
ravings that showed plainly I had lost my reason ; and 
since then I am conscious that I am not always in full 
possession of it, but at times so deranged and crazed 
that I do a thousand mad things, tearing my clothes, 
crying aloud in these solitudes, cursing my fate, and 
idly calling on the dear name of her who is my enemy, 
and only seeking to end my life in lamentation ; and 
when I recover my senses I find myself so exhausted 
and weary that I can scarcely move. Most commonly 
my dwelling is the hollow of a cork tree large enough 
to shelter this miserable body ; the herdsmen who 
frequent these mountains, moved by compassion, fur- 
nish me with food, leaving it by the wayside or on the 
rocks, where they think I may perhaps pass and find 
it. Thus do I pass the wretched life that remains to 
me, until it be Heaven's will to bring it to a close, or 
so to order my memory that I no longer recollect the 
beauty and treachery of Luscinda, or the wrong done 
me by Don Fernando." 

Here Cardenio brought to a close his long dis- 
course ; but just as the curate was going to address 
some words of comfort to him, he was stopped by a 
voice that reached his ear, saying in melancholy tones 
what will be told in the next chapter. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL AD- 
VENTURE THAT BEFELL THE CURATE AND THE 
BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA 

" /^^\ GOD! is it possible," said the voice, 
I I "I have found a place that may serve 
V-/ as a secret grave for the weary load of 
this body that I support so unwillingly? How much 
more grateful to my mind will be the society of these 
rocks and brakes that permit me to complain of my 
misfortune to Heaven, than that of any human being, 
for there is none on earth to look to for counsel in 
doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress! " 

All this was heard distinctly by the curate and 
those with him, and as it seemed to them to be ut- 
tered close by, they got up to look for the speaker, 
and before they had gone twenty paces they dis- 
covered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash 
tree, a youth in the dress of a peasant, whose face 
they were unable at the moment to see as he was 
leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that 
flowed past. They approached so silently that he 
did not perceive them, and so, finding they had not 
been noticed, the curate, who was in front, made a 
sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind 
some fragments of rock that lay there; which they 

256 






Chapter XXVIII 257 

did, observing closely what the youth was about. 
He had on a loose double-skirted gray jacket bound 
tight to his body with a white cloth; he wore besides 
breeches and gaiters of gray cloth, and on his head a 
gray cap. 

As soon as he had done bathing his feet, he raised 
his face, and those who were watching him had an 
opportunity of seeing a beauty so exquisite that 
Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper, " As this is 
not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine 
being." 

The youth then took off the cap, and shaking his 
head from side to side there broke loose and spread 
out a mass of hair that the beams of the sun might 
have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed 
a peasant was a lovely woman. The long auburn 
tresses not only covered her shoulders, but, such was 
their length and abundance, concealed her all round 
beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing 
of her form was visible. All which increased not 
only the admiration of the three beholders, but their 
anxiety to learn who she was. With this object they 
resolved to show themselves, and at the stir they 
made in getting on their feet the fair damsel looked 
to see who had made the noise, and the instant she 
perceived them she started to her feet, and without 
waiting to put on her shoes or gather up her hair, 
hastily endeavored to take flight; but before she had 
gone six paces she fell to the ground; seeing which, 
the curate addressing her said, " Stay, senora, whoever 
you may be, for those whom you see here only desire 



258 Don Quixote 

to be of service to you. What your dress would 
hide, senora. is made known to us by your hair; 
a clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that 
has disguised your beauty in a garb so unworthy of 
it, and sent it into solitudes like these where we 
have had the good fortune to find you, if not to 
relieve your distress, at least to offer you comfort. 
And so, senora, or sefior, or whatever you prefer to 
be, dismiss the fears that our appearance has caused 
you and make us acquainted with your good or evil 
fortunes." 

While the curate was speaking, the disguised dam- 
sel stood looking at them without opening her lips 
or uttering a word; but on the curate addressing 
some further words to the same effect to her, sighing 
deeply she broke silence and said, " Since the soli- 
tude of these mountains has been unable to conceal 
me, and the escape of my dishevelled tresses will not 
allow my tongue to deal in falsehoods, I feel bound 
to tell what I would willingly keep secret if I could." 

To fulfil her promise, she, first modestly covering 
her feet and gathering up her hair, seated herself on 
a stone and, after an effort to restrain some tears that 
came to her eyes, began her story thus : — 

" In this Andalusia there is a town from which a 
duke takes a title which makes him one of those that 
are called grandees of Spain. This nobleman has 
two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently 
to his good qualities: the younger heir to I know not 
what, unless it be the treachery of Vellido and the 






Chapter XXVIII 259 

falsehood of Ganelon. My parents are this lord's 
vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth 
had conferred as much on them as fortune, they would 
have had nothing left to desire, nor should I have had 
reason to fear trouble like that in which I find myself 
now. As they have no other child to make their heir, 
and are affectionate parents, I was one of the most 
indulged daughters that ever parents indulged. 

"I was the staff of their old age, and the object in 
which all their wishes centred; and as I was mistress 
of their hearts, so was I also of their possessions. 
Through me they engaged or dismissed their ser- 
vants; through my hands passed the accounts and 
returns of what was sown and reaped; the oil-mills, 
the wine-presses, the count of the flocks and herds, 
the beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like my 
father has or can have, I had under my care. The 
leisure hours left to me after I had given the requi- 
site orders to the shepherds, head men, and laborers, 
I passed in such employments as are not only allow- 
able but necessary for young girls, those that the 
needle, embroidery cushion, and spinning wheel 
usually afford, and if to refresh my mind I quitted 
them for a while, I found recreation in reading some 
devotional book or playing the harp. The truth is, 
that I was leading this busy life in a retirement that 
might compare with that of a monastery. In spite of 
all this, the eyes of love, or idleness, discovered me, 
with the help of the assiduity of Don Fernando; for 
that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told 
you of." 



160 Don Quixote 

The moment the speaker mentioned the name of 
Don Fernando, Cardenio changed color and broke 
into a sweat, with such signs of emotion that the 
curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that 
one of the mad fits which they heard attacked him 
sometimes was coming on him; but Cardenio showed 
no further agitation and remained quiet, regarding 
the peasant girl with fixed attention, for he began to 
suspect who she was. She, however, without notic- 
ing the excitement of. Cardenio, went on to say: — 

"And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he 
owned afterwards, he was smitten with a violent love 
for me. But to shorten the long recital of my woes, 
I will pass over in silence all the artifices employed 
by Don Fernando for declaring his passion for me. 
He bribed all the household, he gave and offered 
gifts and presents to my parents; every day was like 
a holiday or a merry-making in our street; by night 
no one could sleep for the music; the love letters that 
used to come to my hand, no one knew how, were 
innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges. 
It gave me a certain sort of satisfaction to find my- 
self so sought and prized by a gentleman of such 
distinction, and I was not displeased at seeing my 
praises in his letters. At length he learned that my 
parents were contemplating marriage for me; and 
then it was he begged, and I, after some hesitation, 
consented to a secret marriage with him. But a few 
days after this marriage Don Fernando, with no ex- 
planation, ceased to visit me, and before a month 



Chapter XXVIII 261 

passed it was reported in the town that Don Fernando 
had been married in a neighboring city to a maiden 
of rare beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished 
position, though not so rich that her portion would 
entitle her to look for so brilliant a match; it was 
said, too, that her name was Luscinda. 

"This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, in- 
stead of being struck with a chill, with such wrath 
and fury did my heart burn that I scarcely restrained 
myself from rushing out into the streets, crying aloud 
and proclaiming openly the perfidy and treachery of 
which I was the victim; but this transport of rage 
was for the time checked by a resolution I formed, to 
be carried out the same night, and that was to assume 
this dress, which I got from a servant of my father's. 
I at once packed up in a linen pillow-case a woman's 
dress, and some jewels and money to provide for 
emergencies, and in the silence of the night, I sallied 
forth from the house, and on foot set out for the city, 
if not to prevent what I presumed to be already done, 
at least to call on Don Fernando to tell me with what 
conscience he had done it. I reached my destina- 
tion in two days and a half, and on entering the city 
inquired for the house of Luscinda' s parents. The 
first person I asked gave me more in reply than I 
sought to know; he showed me the house, and told 
me all that had occurred at the betrothal of the 
daughter of the family, an affair of such notoriety in 
the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in 
the street. 

"He said that on the night of Don Fernando's 






262 Don Quixote 

betrothal with Luscinda, as soon as she had con- 
sented to be his bride by saying 'Yes, 1 she was 
taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the 
bridegroom approaching to unlace the bosom of her 
dress to give her air, he found a paper in her own 
handwriting, in which she said and declared that she 
could not be Don Fernando' s bride, because she was 
already Cardenio's, who, according to the man's ac- 
count, was a gentleman of distinction of the same 
city; and that if she had accepted Don Fernando, it 
was only in obedience to her parents. In short, the 
words of the paper made it clear she meant to kill 
herself on the completion of the betrothal; all which 
was confirmed, it was said, by a dagger they found 
somewhere in her clothes. On seeing this, Don 
Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had befooled, 
slighted, and trifled with him, assailed her before 
she had recovered from her swoon, and tried to stab 
her with the dagger that had been found, and would 
have succeeded had not her parents and those who 
were present prevented him. It was said, moreover, 
that Don Fernando went away at once, and that 
Luscinda did not recover from her prostration until 
the next day, when she told her parents how she was 
really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. 
I learned besides that Cardenio, according to report, 
had been present at the betrothal; and that on seeing 
her betrothed contrary to his expectation, he had 
quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a 
letter declaring the wrong Luscinda had done him, 
and his intention of going where no one should ever 



Chapter XXVIII 263 

see him again. All this was a matter of notoriety in 
the city, and every one spoke of it; especially when 
it became known that Luscinda was missing from her 
father's house and from the city, for she was not to 
be found anywhere, to the distraction of her parents, 
who knew not what steps to take to recover her. 

"While I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as 
I could not find Don Fernando, I heard notice given 
by the public crier offering a great reward to any one 
who should find me, and giving the particulars of my 
age and of the very dress I wore. The instant I 
heard the notice I quitted the city, and I made my 
way into the mountains, without any other thought or 
purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and 
escaping my father and those despatched in search of 
me by his orders." 



CHAPTER XXIX 

WHICH TREATS OF THE DROLL DEVICE AND METHOD 
ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE OUR LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT 
FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE HAD IMPOSED ON 
HIMSELF 

" /*"> UCH, sirs, is the true story of my sad adven- 
^^ tures ; judge for yourselves now whether the 
^J sighs and lamentations you heard had not 
sufficient cause." 

With these words she became silent. The listeners 
felt as much pity as wonder at her misfortunes ; but 
as the curate was just about to offer her some conso- 
lation and advice Cardenio forestalled him, saying, 
" So then, sefiora, you are the fair Dorothea, the only 
daughter of the rich Clenardo? " 

Dorothea was astonished at hearing her father's 
name, and at the miserable appearance of him who 
mentioned it, so she said to him, " And who may you 
be, brother, who seem to know my father's name so 
well? For so far, if I remember rightly, I have not 
mentioned it in the whole story of my misfortunes. ,, 

" I am that unhappy being, sefiora," he replied, 
"the unfortunate Cardenio, whom the wrong-doing 
of him who has brought you to your present condition 
has reduced to the state you see me in. I, Dorothea, 

264 



' 



Chapter XXIX 265 

am he who witnessed the wrong done by Don Fer- 
nando, and waited to hear the ' Yes ' uttered, by which 
Luscinda owned herself his betrothed ; I am he who 
had not courage enough to see how her fainting fit 
ended, or what came of the paper that was found in 
her bosom, because my heart had not the fortitude to 
endure so many strokes of ill-fortune at once • and so 
losing patience I quitted the house, and leaving a let- 
ter with my host, which I entreated him to place in 
Luscinda's hands, I betook myself to these solitudes, 
resolved to end here the life I hated as if it were my 
mortal enemy. But fate would not rid me of it, con- 
tenting itself with robbing me of my reason, perhaps 
to preserve me for the good fortune I have had in 
meeting you ; for if that which you have just told us 
be true, as I believe it to be, it may be that Heaven 
has yet in store for both of us a happier termination 
to our misfortunes than we look for." 

The licentiate now begged, advised, and urged 
them both to come with him to his village, where 
they might furnish themselves with what they needed, 
and take measures to discover Don Fernando, and do 
what seemed to them most advisable. Cardenio 
and Dorothea thanked him, and accepted the kind 
offer he made them; and the barber, w T ho had been 
listening to all attentively and in silence, on his part 
said some kindly words also, and with no less good- 
will than the curate offered his services in any way 
that might be of use to them. He also explained to 
them in a few words the object that had brought them 
there, and the strange nature of Don Quixote's mad- 



266 Don Quixote 

ness, and how they were waiting for his squire, who 
had gone in search of him. 

At this moment they heard a shout, and recognized 
it as coming from Sancho Panza, who, not finding 
them where he had left them, was calling aloud to 
them. They went to meet him, and in answer to 
their inquiries about Don Quixote, he told them how 
he had found him half dead with hunger, and sighing 
for his lady Dulcinea; and although he had told him 
that she commanded him to quit that place and come 
to El Toboso, where she was expecting him, he had 
answered that he was determined not to appear in the 
presence of her beauty until he had done deeds to 
make him worthy of her favor. The licentiate in 
reply told him not to be uneasy, for they would fetch 
him away in spite of himself. He then told Car- 
denio and Dorothea what they had proposed to do to 
cure Don Quixote, or at any rate take him home; 
on which Dorothea said that she could play the dis- 
tressed damsel better than the barber; especially as 
she had there the dress in which to do it to the life, 
and that they might trust to her acting the part in 
every particular requisite for carrying out their 
scheme, for she had read a great many books of 
chivalry, and knew exactly the style in which afflicted 
damsels begged boons of knights-errant. 

"In that case," said the curate, " there is nothing 
more required than to set about it at once." 

Dorothea then took out of her pillow-case a com- 
plete petticoat of some rich stuff, and a green mantle 
of some other fine material, and a necklace and other 



Chapter XXIX 267 

ornaments out of a little box, and with these in an 
instant she so arrayed herself that she looked like a 
great and rich lady. All this, and more, she said, 
she had taken from home in case of need, but that 
until then she had had no occasion to make use of 
it. They were all highly delighted with her grace, 
air, and beauty. But the one who admired her most 
was Sancho Panza, for it seemed to him that in all 
the days of his life he had never seen such a lovely 
creature; and he asked the curate with great eagerness 
who this beautiful lady was, and what she wanted in 
these out-of-the-way quarters." 

"This fair lady, brother Sancho," replied the 
curate, "is no less a personage than the heiress in 
the direct male line of the great kingdom of Mico- 
micon, who has come in search of your master to beg 
a boon of him, which is that he redress a wrong or 
injury that a wicked giant has done her." 

"A lucky seeking and a lucky finding! " said San- 
cho Panza at this; "especially if my master has the 
good fortune to redress that injury, and right that 
wrong, and kill that giant your worship speaks of ; as 
kill him he will if he meets him, unless, indeed, he 
happens to be a phantom; for my master has no 
power at all against phantoms." 

By this time Dorothea had seated herself on the 
curate's mule, and the barber had fitted the ox-tail 
beard to his face, and they now told Sancho to con- 
duct them to where Don Quixote was. Neither the 
curate- nor Cardenio, however, thought fit to go with 
them; Cardenio lest he should remind Don Quixote 



268 Don Quixote 

of the quarrel he had with him, and the curate as 
there was no necessity for his presence just yet, so 
they allowed the others to go on before them, while 
themselves followed slowly on foot. The curate did 
not forget to instruct Dorothea how to act, but she 
said they might make their minds easy, as everything 
would be done exactly as the books of chivalry re- 
quired and described. 

They had gone about three-quarters of a league 
when they discovered- Don Quixote in a wilderness 
of rocks; and as soon as Dorothea saw him and was 
told by Sancho that that was Don Quixote, she 
whipped her palfrey, the well-bearded barber follow- 
ing her, and on coming up to him her squire sprang 
from his mule and came forward to receive her in his 
arms, and she dismounting with great ease of manner 
advanced to kneel before the feet of Don Quixote; 
and though he strove to raise her up, she without 
rising addressed him in this fashion, " From this spot 
I will not rise, O valiant and doughty knight, until 
your goodness and courtesy grant me a boon, which 
will redound to the honor and renown of your person 
and render a service to the most disconsolate and 
afflicted damsel the sun has seen; and if the might 
of your strong arm corresponds to the repute of your 
immortal fame, you are bound to aid the helpless 
being who hath come from far distant lands to seek 
your aid in her misfortunes." 

"I will not answer a word, beauteous lady," replied 
Don Quixote, " nor will I listen to anything further 
concerning you, until you rise from the earth." 



Chapter XXIX 269 

"I will not rise, senor," answered the afflicted 
damsel, " unless of your courtesy the boon I ask is 
first granted me." 

"I grant and accord it," said Don Quixote, "pro- 
vided without detriment or prejudice to my king, my 
country, or her who holds the key of my heart and 
freedom, it may be complied with." 

"It will not be to the detriment or prejudice of 
any of them, my worthy lord," said the afflicted dam- 
sel; and here Sancho Panza drew close to his master's 
ear and said to him very softly, "Your worship may 
very safely grant the boon she asks; it's nothing at 
all; only to kill a big giant; and she who asks it is 
the exalted princess Micomicona, queen of the great 
kingdom of Micomicon of Ethiopia." 

"Let her be who she may," replied Don Quixote, 
" I will do what is my bounden duty, and what my 
conscience bids me, in conformity with what I have 
professed"; and turning to the damsel he said, "Let 
your great beauty rise, for I grant the boon which you 
would ask of me." 

"Then what I ask," said the damsel, "is that your 
magnanimous person accompany me at once whither 
I will conduct you, and that you promise not to en- 
gage in any other adventure or quest until you have 
avenged me of a traitor who, against all human and 
divine law, has usurped my kingdom." 

"I repeat that I grant it," replied Don Quixote; 
" and so, lady, you may from this day forth lay aside 
the melancholy that distresses you, and let your fail- 
ing hopes gather new life and strength, for with the 



270 Don Quixote 

help of God and of my arm you will soon see yourself 
restored to your kingdom, and seated on the throne 
of your ancient and mighty realm, notwithstanding 
and despite of the felons who would gainsay it; and 
now hands to the work, for, as they say, in delay 
there is apt to be danger." 

The distressed damsel strove with much pertinacity 
to kiss his hands; but Don Quixote, who was in all 
things a polished and courteous knight, would by no 
means allow it, but made her rise and embraced her 
with great courtesy and politeness, and ordered San- 
cho to look to Rocinante's girths, and to arm him 
without a moment's delay. Sancho took down the 
armor, which was hung up in a tree like a trophy, 
and having seen to the girths, armed his master in a 
trice, who as soon as he found himself in his armor 
exclaimed, " Let us be gone in the name of God to 
bring aid to this great lady." 

The barber was all this time on his knees at great 
pains to hide his laughter and not let his beard fall, 
for had it fallen maybe their fine scheme would have 
come to nothing; but now seeing the boon granted, 
and the promptitude with which Don Quixote pre- 
pared to set out in compliance with it, he rose and 
took his lady's hand, and between them they placed 
her on the mule. Don Quixote then mounted 
Rocinante, and the barber settled himself on his 
beast, Sancho being left to go on foot, which made 
him feel anew the loss of his Dapple, finding the 
want of him now. But he bore all with cheerfulness, 
being persuaded that his master had now fairly 



Chapter XXIX 271 

started and was just on the point of becoming an 
emperor; for he felt no doubt at all that he would 
marry this princess, and be king of Micomicon at 
least. 

Cardenio and the curate were watching all this 
from among some bushes, not knowing how to join 
company with the others; but the curate, who was 
very fertile in devices, soon hit on a way of effecting 
their purpose, and with a pair of scissors that he had 
in a case he quickly cut off Cardenio' s beard, and 
putting on him a gray jerkin of his own he gave him 
a black cloak, leaving himself in his breeches and 
doublet, while Cardenio's appearance was so different 
from what it had been that he would not have known 
himself had he seen himself in a mirror. Having 
effected this, although the others had gone on ahead 
while they were disguising themselves, they easily 
came out on the high-road before them, for the 
brambles and awkward places they encountered did 
not allow those on horseback to go as fast as those 
on foot. They then posted themselves on the level 
ground at the outlet of the sierra, and as soon as Don 
Quixote and his companions emerged from it the 
curate began to examine him very deliberately, as 
though he were striving to recognize him, and after 
having stared at him for some time he hastened 
towards him with open arms exclaiming, "A happy 
meeting with the mirror of chivalry, my worthy com- 
patriot Don Quixote of La Mancha, the flower and 
cream of high breeding, the protection and relief of 
the distressed, the quintessence of knights-errant!" 



272 Don Ouixote 

/ (V 

And so saying he clasped in his arms the knee of Don 
Quixote's left leg. He, astonished at the stranger's 
words and behavior, looked at him attentively, and 
at length recognized him, very much surprised to see 
him there, and made great efforts to dismount. This, 
however, the curate would not allow, on which Don 
Quixote said, " Permit me, Senor Licentiate, for it is 
not fitting that I should be on horseback and so 
reverend a person as your worship on foot." 

"On no account will I allow it," said the curate; 
"your mightiness must remain on horseback, for it is 
on horseback you achieve the greatest deeds and ad- 
ventures that have been beheld in our age ; as for me, 
an unworthy priest, it will serve me well enough to 
mount on the haunches of one of the mules of these 
gentlefolk who accompany your worship, if they have 
no objection." 

" Nor even that will I consent to, Senor Licentiate," 
answered Don Quixote, "and I know it will be the 
good pleasure of my lady the princess, out of love for 
me, to order her squire to give up the saddle of his 
mule to your worship, and he can sit behind if the 
beast will bear it." 

"It will, I am sure," said the princess, "and I am 
sure, too, that I need not order my squire, for he is 
too courteous and too good a Christian to allow a 
Churchman to go on foot when he might be mounted." 

"That he is," said the barber, and at once alight- 
ing, he offered his saddle to the curate, who accepted 
it without much entreaty; but unfortunately as the 
barber was mounting behind, the mule lifted its hind 



Chapter XXIX 273 

hoofs and let fly a couple of kicks in the air. These 
so took the barber by surprise that he came to the 
ground, giving so little heed to his beard that it fell 
off, and all he could do when he found himself with- 
out it was to cover his face hastily with both his hands 
and moan that his teeth were knocked out. Don 
Quixote when he saw all that bundle of beard de- 
tached from the face of the fallen squire, exclaimed, 
"By the living God, but this is a great miracle! it 
has knocked off and plucked away the beard from his 
face as if it had been shaved off designedly." 

The curate, seeing the danger of discovery that 
threatened his scheme, at once pounced on the beard 
and hastened with it to where Master Nicholas lay, 
still uttering moans, and drawing his head to his 
breast had it on in an instant, muttering over him 
some words which he said were a certain special 
charm for sticking on beards, as they would see; and 
as soon as he had it fixed he left him, and the squire 
appeared well bearded and whole as before, whereat 
Don Quixote was beyond measure astonished, and 
begged the curate to teach him that charm when he 
had an opportunity, as he was persuaded its virtue 
must extend beyond the sticking on of beards. 

"And so it does," said the curate, and he promised 
to teach it to him on the first opportunity. They 
then agreed that for the present the curate should 
mount, and that the three should ride by turns until 
they reached the inn, which might be about six 
leagues from where they were. 

Three then being mounted, that is to say, Don 



274 Don Quixote 

Quixote, the princess, and the curate, and three on 
foot, Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho Panza, Don 
Quixote said to the damsel, "Let your highness, 
lady, lead on whithersoever is most pleasing to you "; 
but before she could answer the licentiate said, 
"Towards what kingdom would your ladyship direct 
our course ? Is it perchance towards that of Mico- 
micon? It must be, or else I know little about 
kingdoms." 

She, being ready on all points, said, "Yes, senor, 
my way lies towards that kingdom." 

"In that case," said the curate, "we must pass 
right through my village, and there your worship will 
take the road to Cartagena, where you will be able to 
embark, fortune favoring." 

"Now," said Don Quixote, "I would ask the Senor 
Licentiate to tell me what it is that has brought him 
to these parts, alone, unattended, and so lightly clad 
that I am filled with amazement." 

"I will answer that briefly," replied the curate. 
"You must know then, Senor Don Quixote, that 
Master Nicholas, our friend, and I were going to 
Seville; and passing by this place yesterday we were 
attacked by four footpads, who took our purses and 
half the clothes off our backs ; and the story goes in 
the neighborhood that those who attacked us belong 
to a number of galley slaves, who, they say, were set 
free almost on the very same spot by a man of such 
valor that, in spite of the commissary and of the 
guards, he released the whole of them. Beyond all 
doubt he must have been out of his senses, or he must 



Chapter XXIX 275 

be as great a scoundrel as they to let the wolf loose 
among the sheep, the fox among the hens. He has 
defrauded justice, and opposed his king and lawful 
master, for he opposed the king's just commands; 
he has, I say, robbed the galleys, stirred up the Holy 
Brotherhood which for many years past has been 
quiet, and, lastly, has done a deed by which his soul 
may be lost without any gain to his body." 

Sancho had told the curate and the barber of the 
adventure of the galley slaves, which, so much to his 
glory, his master had achieved, and hence the curate 
in alluding to it made the most of it to see what 
would be said or done by Don Quixote; who changed 
color at every word, not daring to say that it was he 
who had been the liberator of those worthy people. 
"These, then," said the curate, "were they who 
robbed us; and God in his mercy pardon him who 
would not let them go to the punishment they de- 
served." 



CHAPTER XXX 

WHICH TREATS OF THE ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE 
FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER MATTERS PLEASANT 
AND AMUSING 

THE curate had hardly ceased speaking, when 
Sancho said, " In faith, then, Senor Licentiate, 
he who did that deed was my master; and it 
was not for want of my telling him beforehand and 
warning him to mind what he was about, and that it 
was a sin to set them at liberty, as they were all on 
the march there because they were special scoundrels." 
" Blockhead! " said Don Quixote at this, "it is no 
business or concern of knights-errant to inquire 
whether any persons in affliction, in chains, or op- 
pressed that they may meet on the high-roads go that 
way and suffer as they do because of their faults or 
because of their misfortunes. It only concerns them 
to aid them as persons in need of help, having regard 
to their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I en- 
countered a chaplet or string of miserable and unfor- 
tunate people, and did for them what my sense of 
duty demands of me, and as for the rest be that as it 
may; and whoever takes objection to it, saving the 
sacred dignity of the Senor Licentiate, I say he knows 
little about chivalry and lies like a villain, and this I 
will give him to know to the fullest extent with my 

276 



Chapter XXX 277 

sword "j and so saying he settled himself in his stir- 
rups and pressed down his morion; for the barber's 
basin he carried hanging at the saddle-bow until he 
could repair the damage done to it by the galley 
slaves. 

Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by 
this time thoroughly understood Don Quixote's crazy 
turn, and that all except Sancho Panza were making 
game of him, said to him, on observing his irritation, 
" Sir Knight, remember the boon you have promised 
me, and that in accordance with it you must not en- 
gage in any other adventure, be it ever so pressing." 

"I will hold my peace, senora," said Don Quixote, 
"and I will curb the natural anger that had arisen in 
my breast, and will proceed in peace and quietness 
until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for 
this consideration I entreat you to tell me what is the 
nature of your trouble, and on whom I am to take 
vengeance on your behalf? " 

"That I will do with all my heart," replied Doro- 
thea, " if it will not be wearisome to you to hear of 
miseries and misfortunes." 

"It will not be wearisome, senora," said Don Qui- 
xote; to which Dorothea replied, "Well, if that be 
so, give me your attention." 

As soon as she said this, Cardenio and the barber 
drew close to her side, eager to hear what sort of 
story the quick-witted Dorothea would invent for 
herself; and Sancho did the same, for he was as 
much taken in by her as his master; and she having 
settled herself comfortably in the saddle, and with the 



278 Don Quixote 

help of coughing and other preliminaries taken time 
to think, began with great sprightliness of manner in 
this fashion. 

" First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that 
my name is the Princess Micomicona, lawful heiress 
of the great kingdom of Micomicon. The king my 
father, who was called Tinacrio the Sapient, was very 
learned in what they call magic arts, and became 
aware by his craft that my mother, who was called 
Queen Jaramilla, was to die before he did, and that 
soon after he too was to depart this life, and I was to 
be left an orphan without father or mother. But all 
this, he declared, did not so much grieve or distress 
him as his certain knowledge that a prodigious giant, 
the lord of a great island close to our kingdom, Pan- 
dafilando of the Scowl by name, on becoming aware 
of my orphan condition would overrun my kingdom 
with a mighty force and strip me of all, not leaving 
me even a small village to shelter me. My father 
said, too, that when he was dead, and I saw Panda- 
filando about to invade my kingdom, I was not to wait 
and attempt to defend myself if I wished to avoid 
the death and total destruction of my good and 
loyal vassals, for there would be no possibility of 
defending myself against the giant's devilish power; 
and that I should at once set out for Spain, where 
I should obtain relief in my distress on finding a 
certain knight-errant whose fame by that time would 
extend over the whole kingdom, and who would be 
called, if I remember rightly, Don Azote or Don 
Gigote." 



Chapter XXX 279 

"'Don Quixote,' he must have said, senora," ob- 
served Sancho at this, "otherwise called the Knight 
of the Rueful Countenance." 

"That is it," said Dorothea. 

"There is no more to add," said Dorothea, "save 
that in finding Don Quixote I have had such good 
fortune, that I already reckon and regard myself queen 
and mistress of my entire dominions, since of his 
courtesy and magnanimity he has granted me the 
boon of accompanying me whithersoever I may con- 
duct him, which will be only to bring him face to face 
with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may slay him 
and restore to me what has been unjustly usurped by 
him : for all this must come to pass satisfactorily since 
my good father Tinacrio the Sapient foretold it, who 
likewise left it declared in writing that if this pre- 
dicted knight, after having cut the giant's throat, 
should be disposed to marry me I was to offer myself 
at once without demur as his law r ful wife, and yield 
him possession of my kingdom." 

"What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?" said 
Don Quixote at this. "Hearest thou that? Did I 
not tell thee so? See how we have already got a 
kingdom to govern and a queen to marry ! " 

"On my oath it is so," said Sancho; and so saying 
he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign 
of extreme satisfaction, and then ran to seize the 
bridle of Dorothea's mule, and halting it fell on 
his knees before her, begging her to give him her 
hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her 
as his queen and mistress. Dorothea therefore gave 



280 Don Quixote 

her hand, and promised to make him a great lord in 
her kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to 
permit her to recover and enjoy it. 

"This, sirs," continued Dorothea, "is my story; it 
only remains to tell you that of all the attendants I 
took with me from my kingdom I have none left ex- 
cept this well-bearded squire, for all were drowned in 
a great tempest we encountered when in sight of port; 
and he and I came to land on a couple of planks as 
if by a miracle; and indeed the whole course of my 
life is a miracle and a mystery; and if I have been 
over minute in any respect or not as precise as I 
ought, let it be accounted for by the fact that con- 
stant and excessive troubles deprive the sufferers of 
their memory." 

"They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and 
worthy princess," said Don Quixote, "however great 
and unexampled those which I shall endure in your 
service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I 
have promised you, and I swear to go with you to the 
end of the world until I find myself in the presence 
of your fierce enemy, whose haughty head I trust by 
the aid of God and of my arm to cut off; and when 
it has been cut off and you have been put in peaceful 
possession of your realm it shall be left to your own 
decision to dispose of your person as may be most 
pleasing to you; for so long as my memory is occu- 
pied, my will enslaved, and my understanding in- 
thralled by her — I say.no more — it is impossible for 
me for a moment to contemplate marriage." 

The last words of his master about not wanting to 



Chapter XXX 281 

marry were so disagreeable to Sancho that raising his 
voice he exclaimed with great irritation, "By my 
oath, Senor Don Quixote, you are not in your right 
senses; for how can your worship possibly object to 
marrying such an exalted princess as this? Do you 
think Fortune will offer you behind every stone such 
a piece of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady 
Dulcinea fairer, perchance? Not she; I will even 
go so far as to say she does not come up to the shoe 
of this one here. A poor chance I have of getting 
that county I am waiting for if your worship goes 
looking for dainties in the bottom of the sea. In the 
devil's name, marry, marry, and take this kingdom 
that comes to hand without any trouble, and when 
you are king make me a marquis or governor of a 
province." 

Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies ut- 
tered against his lady Dulcinea, could not endure it, 
and lifting his pike, without saying anything to San- 
cho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks 
that he brought him to the ground. " Do you think," 
he said, " you scurvy clown, that you are to be always 
interfering with me, and that you are to be always 
offending and I always pardoning? Don't fancy it, 
impious scoundrel, for that beyond a doubt thou art, 
since thou hast set thy tongue going against the peer- 
less Dulcinea. Know you not, lout, vagabond, beg- 
gar, that were it not for the might which she infuses 
into^ my arm I should not have strength enough to 
kill a flea? Say, O scoffer with a viper's tongue, 
what think you has won this kingdom and cut off this 



282 Don Quixote 

giant's head and made you a marquis (for all this I 
count as already accomplished and decided), but the 
might of Dulcinea, employing my arm as the instru- 
ment of her achievements? O scoundrel, how un- 
grateful you are, you see yourself raised from the dust 
of the earth to be a titled lord, and the return you 
make for so great a benefit is to speak evil of her who 
has conferred it on you ! " 

Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his 
master said, and rising with some degree of nimble- 
ness he ran to place himself behind Dorothea's pal- 
frey, and from that position he said to his master, 
"Tell me, senor: if your worship is resolved not to 
marry this great princess, it is plain the kingdom will 
not be yours; and not being so, how can you bestow 
favors on me? That is what I complain of." 

"That is enough," said Dorothea: "run, Sancho, 
and kiss your lord's hand and beg his pardon, and 
henceforward be more circumspect with your praise 
and abuse: and say nothing in disparagement of that 
lady Tobosa, of whom I know nothing save that I am 
her servant : and put your trust in God, for you will not 
fail to obtain some dignity so as to live like a prince." 

Sancho advanced hanging his head and begged his 
master's hand, which Don Quixote with dignity pre- 
sented to him, giving him his blessing as soon as he 
had kissed it: he then bade him come with him on 
ahead a little, as he had questions to ask him and 
matters of great importance to discuss with him. 
Sancho obeyed, and when the two had gone some 
distance in advance Don Quixote said to him, 



Chapter XXX 283 

" Since thy return I have had no opportunity or time 
to ask thee any particulars touching thy mission 
and the answer thou hast brought back, and now that 
chance has granted us the time and opportunity, 
deny me not the happiness thou canst give me by 
such good news." 

While he spoke they saw coming along the road 
they were following a man mounted on an ass, who 
seemed to be a gypsy; but Sancho Panza, whose eyes 
and heart were there wherever he saw asses, no sooner 
beheld the man than he knew him to be Gines de 
Pasamonte; and the beast he rode Sancho felt certain 
was his own Dapple. In fact Pasamonte, to escape 
recognition and to sell the ass had disguised himself 
as a gypsy. Sancho the instant he saw and recognized 
him shouted, "Ginesillo, you thief, give up my 
treasure, quit my ass, leave my delight, be off, get 
thee gone." 

There was no necessity for so many words or ob- 
jurgations, for at the first one Gines jumped down, 
and at a trot like racing speed made off and got clear 
of them all. Sancho hastened to his Dapple, and 
embracing him he said, " How hast thou fared, my 
blessing, Dapple of my eyes, my comrade?" all the 
while kissing and caressing him as if he were a human 
being. The ass held his peace, and let himself be 
kissed and caressed without answering a single word. 
The others all came up and congratulated Sancho 
on having found Dapple, Don Quixote especially, 
who told him that notwithstanding this he would not 
cancel the order for the three ass-colts. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

OF THE DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE 
AND SANCHO PANZA, HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH 
OTHER INCIDENTS 

THE party now. went on, and Don Quixote re- 
sumed his conversation with Sancho, saying, 
" Friend Panza, let us forgive and forget as to 
our quarrels, and tell me now, dismissing anger and 
irritation, where, how, and when didst thou find 
Dulcinea? What was she doing? What didst thou 
say to her? What did she answer? How did she 
look when she was reading my letter? Who copied 
it out for thee? and everything in the matter that 
seems to thee worth knowing, asking, and learning; 
neither adding nor falsifying to give me pleasure, 
nor yet curtailing lest you should deprive me of it." 

" Senor, " replied Sancho, " if the truth is to be told, 
nobody copied out the letter for me, for I carried no 
letter at all." 

"It is as thou sayest," said Don Quixote, "for the 
note-book in which I wrote it I found in my own 
possession two days after thy departure, which gave 
me very great vexation, as I knew not what thou 
wouldst do on finding thyself without any letter; and 
I made sure thou wouldst return from the place where 
thou didst first miss it." 

284 



Chapter XXXI 285 

"So I should have done," said Sancho, "if I had 
not got it by heart when your worship read it to me, 
so that I repeated it to a sacristan, who copied it out 
for me from hearing it, so exactly that he said in all 
the days of his life he had never seen or read so pretty 
a letter as that." 

" And hast thou got it still in thy memory, Sancho ? " 
said Don Quixote. 

"No, sefior," replied Sancho, "for as soon as I 
had repeated it, seeing there was no further use for it, 
I set about forgetting it; and if I recollect any of it, 
it is that about 'Sovereign Lady,' and the end, 'Yours 
till death, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance ' ; 
and between these two I put into it more than three 
hundred 'my souls ' and 'my life's ' and 'my eyes.' " 

"All that is not unsatisfactory to me," said Don 
Quixote. "Go on; thou didst reach her; and what 
was that queen of beauty doing? Surely thou didst 
find her stringing pearls, or embroidering some de- 
vice in gold thread for this her enslaved knight." 

" I did not, " said Sancho, " but I found her winnow- 
ing two bushels of wheat in the yard of her house." 

"Then depend on it," said Don Quixote, "the 
grains of that wheat were pearls when touched by her 
hands; and didst thou look, friend? was it white 
wheat or brown? " 

"It was neither, but red," said Sancho. 

"Then I promise thee," said Don Quixote, "that, 
winnowed by her hands, beyond a doubt the bread it 
made' was of the whitest; but go on; when thou 
gavest her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she per- 



286 Don Quixote 

form any ceremony befitting such a letter, or what did 
she do?" 

"When I went to give it to her," replied Sancho, 
" she was hard at it, swaying from side to side with a 
lot of wheat she had in the sieve, and she said to me, 
'Lay the letter, friend, on the top of that sack, for I 
cannot read it until I have done sifting all this.' " 

"Discreet lady!" said Don Quixote; "that was in 
order to read it at her leisure and enjoy it; proceed, 
Sancho; while she was engaged in her occupation 
what converse did she hold with thee? What did 
she ask about me, and what answer didst thou give ? 
Make haste; tell me all, and let not an atom be left 
behind in the ink-bottle." 

"She asked me nothing," said Sancho; "but I told 
her how your worship was left doing penance in her 
service in among these mountains like a savage, 
sleeping on the ground, not eating bread off a table- 
cloth nor combing your beard, weeping and cursing 
your fortune." 

" In saying I cursed my fortune thou saidst wrong," 
said Don Quixote ; " for rather do I bless it and shall 
bless it all the days of my life for having made me 
worthy of aspiring to love so lofty a lady as Dulcinea 
del Toboso. And doth she not of a truth accompany 
and adorn this greatness with a thousand million 
charms of mind! But one thing thou wilt not deny, 
Sancho; when thou earnest close to her didst thou 
not perceive a Sabaean odor, an aromatic fragrance, 
an exhalation, as if thou wert in the shop of some 
dainty glover? " 



Chapter XXXI 287 

"All I can say is," said Sancho, "that I did per- 
ceive a little odor, something goaty; it must have 
been that she was all in a sweat with hard work." 

" It could not be that, " said Don Quixote, " but thou 
must have been suffering from a cold in the head." 

"Maybe so," replied Sancho. 

"Well then," continued Don Quixote, "now she 
has done sifting the corn and sent it to the mill; what 
did she do when she read the letter? " 

"As for the letter," said Sancho, "she did not read 
it, for she said she could neither read nor write; in- 
stead of that she tore it up into small pieces, saying 
that she did not want to let any one read it lest her 
secrets should become known in the village, and that 
what I had told her by word of mouth about the love 
your worship bore her, and the extraordinary penance 
you were doing for her sake, was enough; and, to 
make an end of it, she told me to tell your worship 
that she kissed your hands, and that she entreated and 
commanded you to come out of these thickets, and 
to have done with carrying on absurdities, and to set 
out at once for El Toboso, for she had a great desire 
to see your worship. She laughed greatly when I told 
her how your worship was called the Knight of the 
Rueful Countenance; I asked her if that Biscayan 
the other day had been there; and she told me he 
had, and that he was a very honest fellow; I asked 
her too about the galley slaves, but she said she had 
not seen any as yet." 

"So far all goes well," said Don Quixote: "but 
tell me what jewel was it that she gave thee on taking 



288 Don Quixote 

thy leave, in return for thy tidings of me? For it is 
a usual and ancient custom with knights and ladies 
errant to give the squires, damsels, or dwarfs who 
bring tidings of their ladies to the knights, or of 
their knights to the ladies, some rich jewel as a guer- 
don for good news, and acknowledgment of the 
message." 

"That is very likely," said Sancho; "but that must 
have been in days gone by, for now it would seem to 
be the custom only to give a piece of bread and 
cheese; because that was what my lady Dulcinea gave 
me over the top of the yard- wall when I took leave of 
her." 

"She is generous in the extreme," said Don Qui- 
xote, "and if she did not give thee a jewel of gold, 
no doubt it must have been because she had not one 
to hand there to give thee. But knowest thou what 
amazes me, Sancho ? It seems to me thou must have 
gone and come through the air, for thou hast taken 
but little more than three days to go to El Toboso 
and return, though it is more than thirty leagues from 
here to there. From which I am inclined to think 
that the sage magician who is my friend, and watches 
over my interests (for of necessity there is and must 
be one, or else I should not be a right knight-errant), 
that this same, I say, must have helped thee to travel 
without thy knowledge; for some of these sages will 
catch up a knight-errant sleeping in his bed, and 
without his knowing how or in what way it happened, 
he wakes up the next day more than a thousand 
leagues away from the place where he went to sleep. 



Chapter XXXI 289 

And if it were not for this, knights-errant would not 
be able to give aid to one another in peril, as they 
do at every turn. For a knight, maybe, is fighting 
in the mountains of Armenia with some dragon, or 
fierce serpent, or another knight, and gets the worst 
of the battle, and is at the point of death; but when 
he least looks for it, there appears over against him 
on a cloud, or chariot of fire, another knight, a friend 
of his, who just before had been in England, and who 
takes his part, and delivers him from death: and at 
night he finds himself in his own quarters supping 
very much to his satisfaction; and yet from one place 
to the other will have been two or three thousand 
leagues. And all this is done by the craft and skill 
of the sage enchanters who take care of those valiant 
knights; so that, friend Sancho, I find no difficulty 
in believing that thou mayest have gone from this 
place to El Toboso and returned in such a short time, 
since, as I have said, some friendly sage must have 
carried thee through the air without thee perceiving 
it. But putting this aside, what thinkest thou I ought 
to do about my lady's command to go to see her? 
For though I feel that I am bound to obey her man- 
date, I feel too that I am debarred by the boon I 
have accorded to the princess that accompanies us, 
and the law of chivalry compels me to have regard 
for my word in preference to my inclination; what I 
think I shall do is to travel with all speed and reach 
quickly the place where this giant is, and on my 
arrival I shall cut off his head, and establish the 
princess peacefully in her realm, and forthwith I shall 



290 Don Quixote 

return to behold the light that lightens my senses, to 
whom I shall make such excuses that she will be led 
to approve of my delay, for she will see that it entirely 
tends to increase her glory and fame ; for all that I 
have won, am winning, or shall win by arms in this 
life, comes to me of the favor she extends to me, and 
because I am hers." 

"Ah! what a sad state your worship's brains are 
in ! " said Sancho. " Tell me, senor, do you mean 
to travel all that way for nothing, and to let slip and 
lose so rich and great a match as this where they 
give as a portion a kingdom that in sober truth I 
have heard say is more than twenty thousand leagues 
round about, and abounds with all things necessary to 
support human life. Peace, for the love of God! 
Blush for what you have said, and take my advice, 
and forgive me, and marry at once in the first village 
where there is a curate; if not, here is our licentiate 
who will do the business beautifully; remember, I am 
old enough to give advice, and this I am giving comes 
pat to the purpose." 

"Look here, Sancho," said Don Quixote. "If 
thou art advising me to marry, in order that imme- 
diately on slaying the giant I may become king, and 
be able to confer favors on thee, and give thee what 
I have promised, let me tell thee I shall be able very 
easily to satisfy thy desires without marrying; for 
before going into battle I will make it a stipulation 
that, if I come out of it victorious, even if I do not 
marry, they shall give me a portion of the kingdom, 
that I may bestow it on whomsoever I choose; and 



Chapter XXXI 291 

when they give it to me, on whom wouldst thou have 
me bestow it but on thee? " 

"That is plain speaking," said Sancho. "Don't 
mind going to see my lady Dulcinea now, but go and 
kill this giant and let us finish off this business; for 
it strikes me it will be one of great honor and great 
profit." 

"I hold thou art in the right of it, Sancho," said 
Don Quixote, "and I will take thy advice, but I 
counsel thee not to say anything to any one about 
what we have considered and discussed; for as Dul- 
cinea is so decorous that she does not wish her 
thoughts to be known, it is not right that I or any one 
for me should disclose them." 

"Well then, if that be so," said Sancho, "how is 
it that your worship makes all those you overcome by 
your arm go to present themselves before my lady 
Dulcinea, this being the same thing as signing your 
name to it that you love her and are her lover? " 

"Oh, how silly and simple thou art!" said Don 
Quixote; "seest thou not, Sancho, that this tends to 
her greater exaltation? For thou must know that 
according to our way of thinking in chivalry, it is a 
high honor to a lady to have many knights-errant in 
her service, whose thoughts never go beyond serving 
her for her own sake, and who look for no other re- 
ward for their great and true devotion than that she 
should be willing to accept them as her knights." 

" It is with that kind of love," said Sancho, " I have 
heard preachers say we ought to love our Lord, for 
himself alone, without being moved by the hope of 



292 Don Quixote 

glory or the fear of punishment; though for my part, 
I would rather love and serve him for what he could 
do." 

"Perdition take thee for a clown! " said Don Qui- 
xote, "and what shrewd things thou sayest at times ! 
One would think thou hadst studied." 

Master Nicholas here called out to them to wait 
awhile, as they wanted to halt and drink at a spring 
there was there. Don Quixote drew up, not a little 
to the satisfaction of Sancho, for he was by this time 
weary of telling so many lies, and in dread of his 
master catching him tripping • for though he knew 
that Dulcinea was a peasant girl of El Toboso, he 
had never seen her in all his life. Cardenio had 
now put on the clothes which Dorothea was wearing 
when they found her, and though they were not very 
good, they were far better than those he put off. 
They dismounted together by the side of the 
spring, and with what the curate had provided him- 
self with at the inn they appeased, though not very 
well, the keen appetite they all of them brought with 
them. 

While they were so employed there happened to 
come by a youth passing on his way, who stopping to 
examine the party at the spring, the next moment ran 
to Don Quixote and clasping him round the legs, began 
to weep freely, saying, " O sefior, do you not know 
me? Look at me well; I am that lad Andres that 
your worship released from the oak tree where I was 
tied." 

Don Quixote recognized him, and taking his hand 



Chapter XXXI 293 

he turned to those present and said : "That your wor- 
ships may see how important it is to have knights- 
errant to redress the wrongs and injuries done by 
tyrannical and wicked men in this world, I may tell 
you that some days ago passing through a wood, I 
heard cries and piteous complaints as of a person in 
pain and distress; I immediately hastened, impelled 
by my bounden duty, to the quarter whence the plain- 
tive accent seemed to me to proceed, and I found 
tied to an oak this lad who now stands before you, 
which in my heart I rejoice at, for his testimony will 
not permit me to depart from the truth in any par- 
ticular. He was, I say, tied to an oak, and a clown, 
whom I afterwards found to be his master, was scari- 
fying him by lashes with the reins of his mare. As 
soon as I saw him I asked the reason of so cruel a 
flagellation. The boor replied that he was flogging 
him because he was his servant and because of care- 
lessness that proceeded rather from dishonesty than 
stupidity; on which this boy said, 'Seiior, he flogs 
me only because I ask for my wages. ' The master 
made I know not what speeches and explanations, 
which, though I listened to them, I did not accept. 
In short, I compelled the clown to unbind him, and 
to swear he would take him with him, and pay him 
real by real. Is not all this true, Andres my son? 
Didst thou not mark with what authority I commanded 
him, and with what humility he promised to do all I 
enjoined, specified, and required of him? Answer 
without confusion or hesitation; tell these gentlemen 
what took place, that they may see and observe that 



294 Don Ouixote 

it is as great an advantage as I say to have knights- 
errant abroad." 

"All that your worship has said is quite true," 
answered the lad; " but the end of the business turned 
out just the opposite of what your worship supposes." 

"How! the opposite?" said Don Quixote. "Did 
not the clown pay thee then? " 

"Not only did he not pay me," replied the lad, 
"but as soon as your worship had passed out of the 
wood and we were alone, he tied me up again to the 
same oak and gave me a fresh flogging; and every 
stroke he gave me he followed up with some jest or 
gibe about having made a fool of your worship. In 
short, he left me in such a condition that I have been 
until now in a hospital getting cured of the injuries 
which that rascally clown inflicted on me then; for 
all which your worship is to blame; for if you had 
gone your own way and not come where there was no 
call for you, nor meddled in other people's affairs, 
my master would have been content with giving me 
one or two dozen lashes, and would have then loosed 
me and paid me what he owed me. ' ' 

"The mischief," said Don Quixote, "lay in my 
going away, for I should not have gone until I had 
seen thee paid; because I ought to have known well 
by long experience that there is no clown who will 
keep his word if he finds it will not suit him to keep 
it; but thou rememberest, Andres, that I swore if he 
did not pay thee I would go and seek him and find 
him though he were to hide himself in the whale's 
belly." 



Chapter XXXI 295 

"That is true," said Andes; "but it was of no 
use." 

"Thou shalt see now whether it is of use or not," 
said Don Quixote; and so saying, he got up hastily 
and bade Sancho bridle Rocinante, who was browsing 
while they were eating. Dorothea asked him what 
he meant to do. He replied that he meant to go in 
search of this clown and chastise him for such ini- 
quitous conduct, and see Andres paid to the last 
maravedi, despite and in the teeth of all the clowns 
in the world. To which she replied that he must 
remember that in accordance with his promise he 
could not engage in any enterprise until he had 
brought hers to a conclusion; and that as he knew 
this better than any one, he should restrain his ardor 
until his return from her kingdom. 

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "and Andres 
must have patience until my return as you say, senora; 
but I once more swear and promise afresh not to stop 
until I have seen him avenged and paid." 

"I have no faith in those oaths," said Andres; "I 
would rather have now something to help me to get 
to Seville than all the revenges in the world : if you 
have here anything to eat that I can take with me, 
give it me, and God be with your worship." 

Sancho took out from his store a piece of bread 
and another of cheese, and giving them to the lad he 
said, " Here, take this, brother Andres. God knows 
whether I shall feel the want of it myself or not; for 
I would have you know, friend, that we squires to 
knights-errant have to bear a great deal of hunger and 



296 Don Quixote 

hard fortune, and even other things more easily felt 
than told." 

Andres seized his bread and cheese, and seeing 
that nobody gave him anything more, bent his head, 
and took hold of the road, as the saying is. 



CHAPTER XXXII 

WHICH TREATS OF THE HEROIC AND PRODIGIOUS BATTLE 
DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH CERTAIN SKINS OF RED WINE 

THEIR dainty repast being finished, they sad- 
dled at once, and without any adventure worth 
mentioning they reached next day the inn, the 
object of Sancho Panza's fear and dread; but though 
he would have rather not entered it, there was no 
help for it. The landlady, the landlord, their daugh- 
ter, and Maritornes, when they saw Don Quixote and 
Sancho coming, went out to welcome them with signs 
of hearty satisfaction, which Don Quixote received 
with dignity and gravity, and bade them make up a 
better bed for him than the last time : to which the 
landlady replied that if he paid better than he did the 
last time she would give him one fit for a prince. 
Don Quixote said he would, so they made up a toler- 
able one for him in the same garret as before; and 
he lay down at once, being sorely shaken and in want 
of sleep. 

No sooner was the door shut on him than the land- 
lady made at the barber, and seizing him by the 
beard, said, " By my faith you are not going to make 
a beard of my ox-tail any longer." But for all she 
tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the 
licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was 

297 



298 Don Quixote 

now no further occasion for that stratagem, because 
he might declare himself and appear in his own 
character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to 
this inn when those thieves the galley slaves robbed 
him; and should he ask for the princess's squire, 
they could tell him that she had sent him on before 
her to give notice to the people of her kingdom that 
she was coming, and bringing with her the deliverer 
of them all. On this the barber cheerfully restored 
the tail to the landlady, and at the same time they 
returned all the accessories they had borrowed to 
effect Don Quixote's deliverance. All the people of 
the inn were struck with astonishment at the beauty 
of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure of the 
shepherd Cardenio. The curate made them get ready 
such fare as there was in the inn, and the landlord, 
in hope of better payment, served them up a tolerably 
good dinner. 

They had scarcely done eating when Sancho Panza, 
who had left the rest of the company, burst forth in 
wild excitement from the garret where Don Quixote 
was lying, shouting, "Run, sirs! quick; and help 
my master, who is in the thick of the toughest and 
stiffest battle I ever laid eyes on. By the living God 
he has given the giant, the enemy of my lady the 
Princess Micomicona, such a slash that he has sliced 
his head clean off as if it were a turnip." 

"What are you talking about, brother?" said the 
curate. "Are you in your senses, Sancho? How 
the dickens can it be as you say, when the giant is 
two thousand leagues away? " 




THE KNIGHT OF LA MANCHA BATTLING WITH THE WINE-SKINS 



Chapter XXXII 299 

Here they heard a loud noise in the chamber, and 
Don Quixote shouting out, " Stand, thief, brigand, 
villain; now I have got thee and thy cimeter shall 
not avail thee ! " And then it seemed as though he 
were slashing vigorously at the wall. 

"Don't stop to listen," said Sancho, "but go in 
and part them or help my master : though there is no 
need of that now, for no doubt the giant is dead by 
this time and giving account to God of his past wicked 
life; for I saw the blood flowing on the ground, and 
the head cut off and fallen on one side, and it is as 
big as a large wine-skin." 

"May I die," said the landlord at this, "if Don 
Quixote or Don Devil has not been slashing some of 
the skins of red wine that stand full at his bed's head, 
and the spilt wine must be what this good fellow 
takes for blood"; and so saying he went into the 
room and the rest after him, and there they found 
Don Quixote slashing about on all sides, uttering 
exclamations as if he were actually fighting some 
giant : and the best of it was his eyes were not open, 
for he was fast asleep, and dreaming that he was 
doing battle with the giant. For his imagination 
was so wrought on by the adventure he was going to 
accomplish, that it made him dream he had already 
reached the kingdom of Micomicon, and was engaged 
in combat with his enemy; and believing he was 
laying on to the giant, he had given so many sword 
cuts to the skins that the whole room was full of wine. 
On seeing this the landlord was so enraged that he 
fell on Don Quixote, and with his clinched fist began 



300 Don Quixote 

to pummel him in such a way, that if Cardenio and 
the curate had not dragged him off, he would have 
brought the war of the giant to an end. But in spite 
of all, the poor gentleman never woke until the bar- 
ber brought a great pot of cold water from the well 
and flung it with one dash all over him, on which 
Don Quixote woke up, but not so completely as to 
understand what was the matter. As for Sancho, he 
went searching all over the floor for the head of the 
giant, and not finding- it he said, "I see now that it's 
all enchantment in this house; for this head is not to 
be seen anywhere about, though I saw it cut off with 
my own eyes and the blood running from the body as 
if from a fountain." 

" What blood and fountains are you talking about, 
enemy of God and his saints?" said the landlord. 
" Don't you see, you thief, that the blood and the foun- 
tain are only these skins here that have been stabbed 
and the red wine swimming all over the room? " 

The landlord was beside himself and swore it 
should not be like the last time when they went with- 
out paying. The curate was holding Don Quixote's 
hands, who, fancying he had now ended the adventure 
and was in the presence of the Princess Micomicona, 
knelt before the curate and said, " P^xalted and beaute- 
ous lady, your highness may live from this day forth 
fearless of any harm this base being could do you; 
and I too from this day forth am released from the 
promise I gave you, since by the help of God on high 
and by the favor of her by whom I live and breathe, 
I have fulfilled it so successfully." 



Chapter XXXII 301 

At length the barber, Cardenio, and the curate con- 
trived with no small trouble to get Don Quixote on 
the bed, and he fell asleep with every appearance of 
excessive weariness. They left him to sleep, and 
came out to the gate of the inn to appease the land- 
lord, who was furious at the sudden death of his wine- 
skins; and said the landlady, half scolding, half 
crying, " At an evil moment and in an unlucky hour 
he came into my house, this knight-errant — would 
that I had never set eyes on him, for dear he has cost 
me; the last time he went off with the overnight score 
against him for supper, bed, straw, and barley, for 
himself and his squire and a hack and an ass, saying 
he was a knight adventurer and therefore not bound 
to pay anything; and then, for a finishing touch to 
all, to burst my wine-skins and spill my wine ! I 
wish I saw his own blood spilt! But let him not 
deceive himself, for, by the bones of my father and 
the shade of my mother, they shall pay me down 
every quarto; or my name is not what it is, and I am 
not my father's daughter." 

All this and more to the same effect the landlady 
delivered with great irritation, and her good maid 
Maritornes backed her up, while the daughter held 
her peace and smiled from time to time. But the 
curate smoothed matters by promising to make good 
all losses to the best of his power. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS^ INCIDENTS THAT 

OCCURRED AT THE INN 

JUST at that instant the landlord, who was stand- 
ing at the gate of the inn. exclaimed, "Here 
comes a fine troop of guests; if they stop here 
we may rejoice greatly." 

"What are they? " said Cardenio. 

"'Four men," said the landlord, "with lances and 
bucklers, and all with black veils, and with them there 
is a woman in white on a side-saddle, whose face is 
also veiled, and two attendants on foot." 

Hearing this Dorothea covered her face, and Car- 
denio retreated into Don Quixote's room, and they 
hardly had time to do so before the whole party the 
host had described entered the inn, and the four that 
were on horseback, who were of high-bred appear- 
ance and bearing, dismounted, and came forward to 
take down the woman who rode on the side-saddle, 
and one of them taking her in his arms placed her in 
a chair that stood at the entrance of the room where 
Cardenio had hidden himself. All this time neither 
she nor they had removed their veils or spoken a 
word, only on sitting down on the chair the woman 
gave a deep sigh and let her arms fall like one that 

302 



Chapter XXXIII 303 

was ill and weak. The attendants on foot then led 
the horses away to the stable. Observing this the 
curate, curious to know who these people in such a 
dress and preserving such silence were, went to where 
the servants were standing and put the question to 
one of them, who answered him, " Faith, sir, I cannot 
tell you who they are, I only know they seem to be 
people of distinction, particularly he who advanced 
to take the lady you saw in his arms; and I say so 
because all the rest show him respect, and nothing is 
done except what he directs and orders." 

"And the lady, who is she? " asked the curate. 

"That I cannot tell you either," said the servant, 
"for I have not seen her face all the way: I have 
indeed heard her sigh many times and utter such 
groans that she seems to be giving up the ghost every 
time; but it is no wonder if we do not know more 
than we have told you, as my comrade and I have 
only been in their company two days, for having met 
us on the road they begged and persuaded us to 
accompany them to Andalusia, promising to pay us 
well." 

"And have you heard any of them called by his 
name?" asked the curate. 

"No, indeed," replied the servant; "they all pre- 
serve a marvellous silence on the road, for not a 
sound is to be heard among them except the poor 
lady's sighs and sobs; and we feel sure that wherever 
it is she is going, it is against her will, and as far as 
one can judge from her dress she is a nun or, what is 
more likely, about to become one; and perhaps it is 



304 Don Quixote 

because taking the vows is not of her own free will, 
that she is so unhappy as she seems to be." 

"That may well be," said the curate, and leaving 
them he returned to where Dorothea was, who, hear- 
ing the veiled lady sigh, moved by natural compas- 
sion drew near to her and said, "What are you 
suffering from, senora? If it be anything that I can 
relieve, I for my part offer you my services with all 
my heart." 

To this the unhappy lady made no reply; and 
though Dorothea repeated her offers more earnestly 
she still kept silence, until the gentleman with the 
veil, who, the servant said, was obeyed by the rest, 
approached and said to Dorothea, " Do not give your- 
self the trouble, senora, of making any offers to that 
woman; and do not try to make her answer unless 
you want to hear some lie from her lips." 

"I have never told a lie," was the immediate 
reply of her who had been silent until now. 

Cardenio heard these words clearly and distinctly, 
being quite close to the speaker, for there was only 
the door of Don Quixote's room between them, and 
the instant he did so, uttering a loud exclamation he 
cried, "Good God ! what is this I hear? What voice 
is this that has reached my ears?" Startled at the 
voice the lady turned her head; and not seeing the 
speaker she stood up and attempted to enter the room ; 
observing which the gentleman held her back. In 
her agitation and sudden movement the silk with 
which she had covered her face fell off and disclosed 
a countenance of incomparable and marvellous 



Chapter XXXIII 305 

beauty, but pale and terrified. The gentleman 
grasped her firmly by the shoulders, and being so 
fully occupied with holding her back, he was unable 
to put a hand to his veil which was falling off, as it 
did at length entirely, and Dorothea saw that he was 
her husband, Don Fernando. The instant she recog- 
nized him, with a prolonged plaintive cry drawn from 
the depths of her heart, she fell backwards fainting, 
and but for the barber being close by to catch her in 
his arms, she would have fallen completely to the 
ground. The curate at once hastened to uncover her 
face and throw water on it, and as he did so Don Fer- 
nando, for he it was who held the other in his arms, 
recognized her and stood as if death-stricken by the 
sight; not, however, relaxing his grasp of Luscinda, 
for it was she that was struggling to release herself 
from his hold, having recognized Cardenio by his 
voice, as he had recognized her. Cardenio also heard 
Dorothea's cry as she fell fainting, and imagining 
that it came from his Luscinda burst forth in terror 
from the room, and the first thing he saw was Don 
Fernando with Luscinda in his arms. Don Fer- 
nando, too, knew Cardenio at once; and all stood in 
silent amazement scarcely knowing what had happened 
to them. 

The first to break silence was Luscinda, who thus 
addressed Don Fernando: "Leave me, senor Don 
Fernando, for the sake of what you owe to yourself. 
See how Heaven, by ways strange and hidden from 
our sight, has brought me face to face with my true 
husband; and well you know by dear-bought experi- 
x 



306 Don Quixote 

ence that death alone will be able to efface him from 
my memory." 

Meanwhile Dorothea had come to herself, and had 
heard Luscinda's words, by means of which she 
divined who she was; but seeing that Don Fernando 
did not yet release her or reply to her, summoning 
up her resolution as well as she could she rose and 
knelt at his feet, and addressed him thus : 

" If, my lord, the beams of that sun that thou hold- 
est eclipsed in thine, arms did not dazzle and rob 
thine eyes of sight, thou wouldst have seen by this time 
that she who kneels at thy feet is the unhappy and 
unfortunate Dorothea. It was thy will to make me 
thine, and thou didst so follow thy will, that now, 
even though thou repentest, thou canst not help being 
mine. Bethink thee, my lord, the unsurpassable 
affection I bear thee may compensate for the beauty 
and noble birth for which thou wouldst desert me. 
Thou canst not be the fair Luscinda's because thou 
art mine, nor can she be thine because she is Car- 
denio's. Do not by deserting me make the old age 
of my parents miserable." 

All this and more the injured Dorothea delivered 
with such earnest feeling and such tears that all pres- 
ent, even those who came with Don Fernando, were 
constrained to join her in them. Don Fernando, 
overwhelmed with confusion and astonishment, after 
regarding Dorothea for some moments with a fixed 
gaze, opened his arms, and, releasing Luscinda, ex- 
claimed, "Thou hast conquered, fair Dorothea, thou 
hast conquered." 



Chapter XXXIII 307 

Luscinda in her feebleness was on the point of fall- 
ing to the ground when Don Fernando released her, 
but Cardenio, who was near, ran forward to support 
her, and said as he clasped her to himself, "If 
Heaven in its compassion is willing to let thee rest 
at last, mistress of my heart, true, constant, and fair, 
nowhere canst thou rest more safely than in these 
arms that now receive thee." 

At these words Luscinda looked up at Cardenio and 
then, satisfying herself by her eyes that it was he, she 
flung her arms around his neck. 

A strange sight was this for Don Fernando and 
those that stood around, filled with surprise at an 
incident so unlooked for. 

Then Luscinda, and Cardenio, and almost all the 
others, shed so many tears, some in their own happi- 
ness, some at that of the others, that one would have 
supposed a heavy calamity had fallen on them all. 
Even Sancho Panza was weeping; though afterwards 
he said he only wept because he saw that Dorothea 
was not as he fancied the queen Micomicona, of 
whom he expected such great favors. 

At length Don Fernando asked Dorothea how she 
had managed to reach a place so far removed from 
her own home, and she in a few fitting words told all 
that she had previously related to Cardenio. When 
she had finished Don Fernando recounted what had 
befallen him in the city after he had found in Lu- 
scinda' s bosom the paper in which she declared that 
she wsCs Cardenio' s wife, and never could be his. He 
said he meant to kill her, and would have done so had 



J 



08 Don Quixote 



he not been prevented by her parents, and that he 
quitted the house full of rage and shame, and resolved 
to avenge himseli when a more convenient oppor- 
tunity should offer. The next day he learned that 
Luscinda had disappeared from her father's house, 
and that no one could tell whither she had gone. 
Finally, at the end of some months he ascertained 
that she was in a convent and meant to remain there 
all the rest of her life, if she were not to share it with 
Cardenio ; and as soon as he had learned this, taking 
these three gentlemen as his companions, he arrived 
at the place where she was, but avoided speaking to 
her, fearing that if it were known he was there stricter 
precautions would be taken in the convent; and 
watching a time when the porter's lodge was open he 
left two to guard the gate, and he and the other en- 
tered the convent in quest of Luscinda, whom they 
found in the cloisters in conversation with one of the 
nuns, and carrying her off without giving her time to 
resist, they reached a place with her where they pro- 
vided themselves with what they required for taking 
her away; all which they were able to do in complete 
safety, as the convent was in the country at a consid- 
erable distance from the city. He added that when 
Luscinda found herself in his power she did nothing 
but weep and sigh without speaking a word; and thus 
in silence and tears they reached that inn, which for 
him was reaching heaven, where all the mischances 
of earth are over and at an end. 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE STORY OF THE FAMOUS 
PRINCESS MICOMICONA, WITH OTHER DROLL ADVEN- 
TURES 

TO all this Sancho listened with no little sorrow 
at heart to see how his hopes of dignity were 
fading away and vanishing in smoke, and how 
the fair princess Micomicona had turned into Doro- 
thea, and the giant into Don Fernando, while his 
master was sleeping tranquilly, totally unconscious of 
all that had come to pass. Dorothea was unable to 
persuade herself that her present happiness was not 
all a dream; Cardeniowas in a similar state of mind, 
and Luscinda's thoughts ran in the same direction. 
Don Fernando gave thanks to Heaven for the favor 
shown to him and for having been rescued from the 
intricate labyrinth in which he had been brought so 
near the destruction of his good name and of his soul; 
and in short everybody in the inn was full of con- 
tentment and satisfaction at the happy issue of such 
a complicated and hopeless business. The curate as 
a sensible man made sound reflections on the whole 
affair, and congratulated each on his good fortune; 
but the one that was in the highest spirits and good 
humor was the landlady, because of the promise Car- 

309 



310 Don Quixote 

denio and the curate had given her to pay for all the 
losses and damage she had sustained through Don 
Quixote's means. Sancho, as has been already said, 
was the only one who was distressed, unhappy, and 
dejected: and so with a long face he went in to his 
master, who had just awoke, and said to him, "Sir 
Rueful Countenance, your worship may as well sleep 
on as much as you like, without troubling yourself 
about killing any giant or restoring her kingdom to 
the princess: for that is all over and settled now." 

"I should think it was,'' replied Don Quixote, "for 
I have had the most prodigious and stupendous battle 
with the giant that I ever remember having had all 
the days of my life; and with one back-stroke — ■ 
swish I — I brought his head tumbling to the ground, 
and so much blood gushed forth from him that it ran 
in rivulets over the earth like water." 

"Like red wine, your worship had better say," re- 
plied Sancho: "for I would have you know, if you 
don't know it, that the dead giant is a hacked wine- 
skin, and the blood four-and-twenty gallons of red 
wine that it had in its belly." 

"What art thou talking about, fool?" said Don 
Quixote; "art thou in thy senses?" 

"Let your worship get up," said Sancho, "and you 
will see the nice business you have made of it, and 
what we have to pay; and you will see the queen 
turned into a private lady called Dorothea, and other 
things that will astonish you, if you understand them." 

" I shall not be surprised at anything of the kind," 
returned Don Quixote; "for if thou dost remember 






Chapter XXXIV 3 n 

the last time we were here I told thee that everything 
that happened here was a matter of enchantment, and 
it would be no wonder if it were the same now."' 

"I could believe all that/' replied Sancho, "if my 
blanketing was the same sort of thing also; only it 
wasn't, but real and genuine; for I saw the landlord, 
who is here to-day, holding one end of the blanket 
and jerking me up to the skies very neatly and 
smartly, and with as much laughter as strength; and 
when it comes to be a case of knowing people, I hold 
for my part, simple and sinner as I am, that there is 
no enchantment about it at all, but a great deal of 
bruising and plenty of bad luck." 

"Well, well, God will give a remedy," said Don 
Quixote; "hand me my clothes and let me go out, for 
I want to see these transformations and things thou 
speakest of." 

Sancho fetched him his clothes and while he was 
dressing, the curate gave Don Fernando and the 
others present an account of Don Quixote's madness 
and of the stratagem they had made use of to with- 
draw him from that Pena Pobre where he fancied 
himself stationed because of his lady's scorn. But 
now, the curate said, that the lady Dorothea's good 
fortune prevented her from proceeding with their pur- 
pose, it would be necessary to devise or discover some 
other way of getting him home. 

Cardenio proposed to carry out the scheme they 
had begun, and suggested that Luscinda would act 
and support Dorothea's part sufficiently well. 

"No," said Don Fernando, "that must not be, for 



312 Don Quixote 

I want Dorothea to follow out this idea of hers; and 
if the worthy gentleman's village is not very far off, 
I shall be happy if I can do anything for his relief." 

"It is not more than two days' journey from this," 
said the curate. 

"Even if it were more," said Don Fernando, "I 
would gladly travel so far for the sake of doing so 
good a work," 

At this moment Don Quixote came out in full 
panoply, with Mambrino's helmet, all dinted as it 
was, on his head, his buckler on his arm, and leaning 
on his staff or pike. The strange figure he presented 
filled Don Fernando and the rest with amazement as 
they contemplated his lean yellow face half a league 
long, his armor of all sorts, and the solemnity of his 
deportment. They stood silent waiting to see what 
he would say, and he, fixing his eyes on the fair 
Dorothea, addressed her with great gravity and 
composure : — 

" I am informed, fair lady, by my squire here that 
your greatness has been annihilated and your being 
abolished, since, from a queen and lady of high de- 
gree as you used to be, you have been turned into a 
private maiden. If this has been done by the com- 
mand of the magician king, your father, through fear 
that I should not afford you the aid you need and 
are entitled to, I may tell you he was little versed in 
the annals of chivalry; for, if he had read and gone 
through them as attentively and deliberately as I 
have, he would have found at every turn that knights 
of less renown than mine have accomplished things 



Chapter XXXIV 313 

more difficult : it is no great matter to kill a whelp of 
a giant, however arrogant he may be; for it is not 
many hours since I myself was engaged with one, 
and — " 

" You were engaged with a couple of wine-skins, 
and not a giant," said the landlord at this; but Don 
Fernando told him to hold his tongue and on no ac- 
count interrupt Don Quixote, who continued : " I say 
in conclusion, high and disinherited lady, that if your 
father has brought about this metamorphosis in your 
person for the reason I have mentioned, you ought 
not to attach any importance to it; for there is no 
peril on earth through which my sword will not force 
a way, and with it, before many days are over, I will 
bring your enemy's head to the ground and place on 
yours the crown of your kingdom." 

Don Quixote said no more, and waited for the 
reply of the princess, who, aware of Don Fernando 's 
determination to carry on the deception until Don 
Quixote had been conveyed to his home, with great 
ease of manner and gravity made answer, "Whoever 
told you, valiant Knight of the Rueful Countenance, 
that I had undergone any change or transformation 
did not tell you the truth, for I am the same as I was 
yesterday. It is true that certain strokes of good 
fortune, that have given me more than I could have 
hoped for, have made some alteration in me; but I 
have not therefore ceased to be what I was before, or 
to entertain the same desire I have had all through 
of availing myself of the might of your valiant and 
invincible arm. And so, senor, all that remains is 



314 Don Quixote 

to set out on our journey to-morrow, for to-day we 
could not make much way; and for the rest of the 
happy result I am looking forward to, I trust to God 
and the valor of your heart." 

So said the sprightly Dorothea, and on hearing her 
Don Quixote turned to Sancho, and said to him, with 
an angry air : " I declare now, thou art the greatest 
little villain in Spain. Say, thief and vagabond, hast 
thou not just now told me that this princess had been 
turned into a maiden- called Dorothea, and other non- 
sense that put me in the greatest perplexity I have 
ever been in all my life ? I vow " (and here he looked 
to heaven and ground his teeth) " I have a mind to 
play the mischief with thee, in a way that will teach 
sense for the future to all lying squires of knights- 
errant in the world." 

"Let your worship be calm, senor," returned San- 
cho, "for it may well be that I have been mistaken 
as to the change of the lady princess Micomicona; 
but as to the piercing of the wine-skins, and the blood 
being red wine, I make no mistake, as sure as there 
is a God; because the wounded skins are there at the 
head of your worship's bed, and the red wine has 
made a lake of the room: if not you will see when 
his worship the landlord here calls for all the dam- 
ages : for the rest, I am heartily glad that her lady- 
ship the queen is as she was, for it concerns me as 
much as any one." 

"That will do," said Don Fernando; "let us say 
no more about it: we will pass the night in pleasant 
conversation, and to-morrow we will all accompany 



Chapter XXXIV 315 

Senor Don Quixote : for we wish to witness the valiant 
and unparalleled achievement he is about to perform 
in the course of this mighty enterprise which he has 
undertaken." 

"It is I who shall wait on and accompany you," 
said Don Quixote: "and I am much gratified by the 
favor that is bestowed on me, and the good opinion 
entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify or 
it shall cost me my life." 

Night was now approaching, and by the orders of 
those who accompanied Don Fernando the landlord 
had taken care and pains to prepare for them the best 
supper that was in his power. The hour therefore 
having arrived they all took their seats at a long table, 
and the seat of honor at the head of it, though he 
was for refusing it, they assigned to Don Quixote, 
who desired the lady Micomicona to place herself by 
his side, as he was her protector. Luscinda took her 
place next Dorothea. Opposite them were Don Fer- 
nando and Cardenio, and next the other gentlemen, 
and by the side of the ladies, the curate and the 
barber. And so they supped in high enjoyment, 
which was increased when they observed Don Qui- 
xote leave off eating, and, moved by an impulse like 
that which made him deliver himself at such length 
when he supped with the goatherds, begin to address 
them : — 

"Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect on it, great and 
marvellous are the things they see, who make profes- 
sion of the order of knight-errantry. Say, what being 
is there in this world, who entering the gate of this 



3 16 Don Quixote 

castle at this moment, and seeing us as we are here, 
would suppose or imagine us to be what we are ? Who 
would say that this lady who is beside me was the 
great queen that we all know her to be, or that I am 
that Knight of the Rueful Countenance, trumpeted far 
and wide by the mouth of Fame ? Now, there can be 
no doubt that this art and calling surpasses all those 
that mankind has invented, and is the more deserv- 
ing of being held in honor in proportion as it is the 
more exposed to peril. Away with those who assert 
that letters have the preeminence over arms; I will 
tell them, whosoever they may be, that they know 
not what they say. For the reason which such per- 
sons commonly assign is, that the labors of the mind 
are greater than those of the body, and that arms give 
employment to the body alone ; as if the calling were 
a porter's trade, for which nothing more is required 
than sturdy # strength. Nay; see whether by bodily 
strength it be possible to learn or divine the inten- 
tions of the enemy, his plans, stratagems, or obsta- 
cles, or to ward off impending mischief; for all these 
are the work of the mind, and in them the body has 
no share whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need 
of the mind, as much as letters, let us see now which 
of the two minds, that of the man of letters or that of 
the warrior, has most to do ; and this will be seen by 
the end and goal that each seeks to attain; for that 
purpose is the more estimable which has for its aim 
the nobler object. The end and goal of letters is to 
establish distributive justice, give to every man that 
which is his, and see and take care that good laws 



Chapter XXXIV 317 

are observed : an end undoubtedly noble, lofty, and 
deserving of high praise, but not such as should be 
given to that sought by arms, which have for their 
end and object peace, the greatest boon that men can 
desire in this life. This, then, being admitted, that 
the end of war is peace, and that so far it has the 
advantage of the end of letters, let us turn to the 
bodily labors of the man of letters, and those of him 
who follows the profession of arms, and see which are 
the greater." 

Don Quixote delivered his discourse in such a 
manner and in such correct language, that for the 
time being he made it impossible for any of his 
hearers to consider him a madman; on the contrary, 
they listened to him with great pleasure as he con- 
tinued : " Here, then, I say, is what the student has 
to undergo: first of all poverty; not that all are poor, 
but to put the case as strongly as possible, this pov- 
erty he suffers from in various ways, but for all that 
it is not so extreme but that he gets something to eat, 
though it may be at somewhat unseasonable hours and 
from the leavings of the rich; and there is always 
some neighbor's brazier or hearth for them, which, if 
it does not warm, at least tempers the cold to them, 
and lastly, they sleep comfortably at night under a 
roof. I will not go into other particulars, as for 
example want of shirts, and no superabundance of 
shoes, thin and threadbare garments, and gorging 
themselves to surfeit in their voracity when good luck 
has treated them to a banquet of some sort. By this 
road that I have described, rough and hard, stumbling 



7iS Don Ouixote 

here, falling there, getting up again to fall again, 
they reach the rank they desire, and that once at- 
tained, we see them ruling and governing the world 
from a chair, their hunger turned into satiety, their 
cold into comfort, their sleep on a mat into repose 
in holland and damask, the justly earned reward of 
their virtue; but, contrasted and compared with what 
the warrior undergoes, all they have undergone falls 
far short of it." 



CHAPTER XXXV 

WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON QUI- 
XOTE DELIVERED ON ARMS AND LETTERS, AND OF 
WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN 

CONTINUING his discourse, Don Quixote 
said: "As we began in the student's case 
with poverty and its accompaniments, let 
us see now if the soldier is richer, and we shall find 
that in poverty itself there is no one poorer; for he is 
dependent on his miserable pay, which comes late or 
never, or else on what he can plunder, seriously im- 
perilling his life and conscience; and sometimes in 
the depth of winter he has to defend himself against 
the inclemency of the weather in the open field with 
nothing better than the breath of his mouth, which I 
need not say, coming from an empty place, must 
come out cold, contrary to the laws of nature. To 
be sure he looks forward to the approach of night to 
make up for all these discomforts on the bed that 
awaits him, which never sins by being over narrow, 
for he can easily measure out on the ground as many 
feet as he likes, and roll himself about in it to his 
heart's content without any fear of the sheets slipping 
away -from him. Then, after all this, suppose the 
day and hour for taking his degree in his calling to 

3i9 



320 Don Quixote 

have come ; suppose the day of battle to have arrived, 
when they invest him with the doctor's cap made of 
lint, to mend some bullet-hole, perhaps, that has gone 
through his temples, or left him with a crippled arm 
or leg. Or if this does not happen, and merciful 
Heaven watches over him and keeps him safe and 
sound, it may be he will be in the same poverty he 
was in before, and he must go through more engage- 
ments and more battles, and come victorious out of 
all before he betters, himself; but miracles of that 
sort are seldom seen. For tell me, sirs, if you have 
ever reflected on it, by how much do those who have 
gained by war fall short of the number of those who 
have perished in it? No doubt you will reply that 
there can be no comparison, that the dead cannot be 
numbered, while the living who have been rewarded 
may be summed up with three figures. 

" Letters say that without them arms cannot main- 
tain themselves, for war, too, has its laws and is 
governed by them, and laws belong to the domain of 
letters and men of letters. To this arms make answer 
that without them laws cannot be maintained, for by 
arms states are defended, kingdoms preserved, cities 
protected, roads made safe, seas cleared of pirates; 
and, in short, if it were not for them, states, king- 
doms, monarchies, cities, ways by sea and land, would 
be exposed to the violence and confusion which war 
brings with it, so long as it lasts and is free to make 
use of its privileges and powers. And then it is 
plain that whatever costs most is valued and deserves 
to be valued most. To attain to eminence in letters 



Chapter XXXV 321 

costs a man time, watching, hunger, headaches, indi- 
gestions, and other things of the sort. But for a man 
to come in the ordinary course of things to be a good 
soldier costs him all the student suffers, and in an 
incomparably higher degree, for at every step he runs 
the risk of losing his life. For what dread of want 
or poverty that harasses the student can compare 
with what the soldier feels, who finding himself be- 
leaguered in some stronghold and knowing that the 
enemy is pushing a mine towards the post where he is 
stationed cannot under any circumstances retire or fly 
from the imminent danger that threatens him? All he 
can do is to inform his captain of what is going on so 
that he may try to remedy it by a counter-mine, and 
then stand his ground in fear and expectation of the 
moment when he will fly up to the clouds without wings 
and descend into the deep against his will. Happy 
the blest ages that knew not the dread fury of those 
devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am 
persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his dia- 
bolical invention, by which he made it easy for a 
base and cowardly arm to take the life of a gallant 
gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or 
whence, in the height of the ardor and enthusiasm 
that fire and animate brave hearts, there should come 
some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one who 
fled in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed 
machine, which in an instant puts an end to the proj- 
ects and cuts off the life of one who deserves to live 
for ages to come. And thus when I reflect on this, 
I am almost tempted to say that in my heart I repent 



322 Don Quixote 

of having adopted this profession of knight-errant in 
so detestable an age as we live in now; for though no 
peril can make me fear, still it gives me some uneasi- 
ness to think that powder and lead may rob me of the 
opportunity of making myself famous and renowned 
throughout the known earth by the might of my arm 
and the edge of my sword. But Heaven's will be 
done; if I succeed in my attempt I shall be all the 
more honored, as I have faced greater dangers than 
the knights-errant of yore exposed themselves to." 

All this lengthy discourse Don Quixote delivered 
while the others supped, forgetting to raise a morsel 
to his lips, though Sancho more than once told him 
to eat his supper, as he would have time enough 
afterwards to say all he wanted. The curate told 
him he was quite right in all he had said in favor of 
arms, and that he himself, though a man of letters 
and a graduate, was of the same opinion. 

They finished their supper, the cloth was removed, 
and while the hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes 
were getting Don Quixote of La Mancha's garret 
ready, in which it was arranged that the women were 
to be quartered by themselves for the night, there 
came up to the inn a coach attended by some men on 
horseback, who demanded accommodation; to which 
the landlady replied that there was not a hand's 
breadth of the whole inn unoccupied. 

"Still, for all that," said one of those who had en- 
tered on horseback, "room must be found for his 
lordship the judge here." 

In the meantime a man had got out of the coach 



Chapter XXXV 323 

whose dress indicated at a glance the office and post 
he held, for the long robe with ruffled sleeves that he 
wore showed that he was, as his servant said, a judge 
of appeal. He led by the hand a young girl in a 
travelling dress, apparently about sixteen years of 
age, and of such a high-bred air, so beautiful and so 
graceful, that all were filled with admiration when she 
made her appearance. Don Quixote was present at 
the entrance of the judge with the young lady, and as 
soon as he saw him he said, " Your worship may with 
confidence enter and take your ease in this castle; 
for though the accommodation be scanty and poor, 
there are no quarters so cramped or inconvenient that 
they cannot make room for arms and letters; above 
all if arms and letters have beauty for a guide and 
leader, as letters represented by your worship have in 
this fair maiden, to whom not only ought castles to 
throw themselves open and yield themselves up, but 
rocks should rend themselves asunder and mountains 
divide and bow themselves down to give her a 
reception." 

The judge was struck with amazement at the lan- 
guage of Don Quixote, whom he scrutinized very 
carefully, no less astonished by his figure than by 
his talk; and before he could find words to answer 
him he had a fresh surprise, when he saw opposite to 
him Luscinda and Dorothea, who, having heard of 
the new guests and of the beauty of the young lady, 
had come to see her and welcome her; Don Fer- 
nando, Cardenio, and the curate, however, greeted 
him in a more intelligible and polished style, and 



324 Don Quixote 

the fair ladies of the inn gave the fair damsel a 
cordial welcome. On the whole the judge could 
perceive that all who were there were people of 
quality; but with the figure, countenance, and bear- 
ing of Don Quixote he was at his wits' end; and all 
civilities having been exchanged, and the accommo- 
dation of the inn inquired into, it was settled, as it 
had been before settled, that all the women should 
retire to the garret, and that the men should remain 
outside as if to guard -them; the judge, therefore, was 
very well pleased to allow his daughter, for such the 
damsel was, to go with the ladies, which she did very 
willingly. 

Don Quixote offered to mount guard over the castle 
lest they should be attacked by some giant or other 
malevolent scoundrel, covetous of the great treasure 
of beauty the castle contained. Those who under- 
stood him returned him thanks for this service, and 
they gave the judge an account of his extraordinary 
humor, with which he was not a little amused. San- 
cho Panza alone was fuming at the lateness of the 
hour for retiring to rest; and he of all was the one 
that made himself most comfortable, as he stretched 
himself on the trappings of his ass. 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

WHEREIN IS RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE 
MULETEER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER STRANGE THINGS 
THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN 

THE ladies, then, having retired to their cham- 
ber, and the others having disposed them- 
selves with as little discomfort as they could, 
Don Quixote sallied out of the inn to act as sentinel 
of the castle as he had promised. It happened, how- 
ever, that a little before the approach of dawn a 
voice so musical reached the ears of the ladies that 
it forced them all to listen attentively, but espe- 
cially Dorothea, who had been awake, and by whose 
side Dona Clara de Yiedma, for so the judge's daugh- 
ter was called, lay sleeping. No one could imagine 
who it was that sang so sweetly. The voice was un- 
accompanied by any instrument and at one moment 
it seemed as if the singer were in the courtyard, at 
another in the stable; and as they were all attention, 
wondering, Cardenio came to the door and said, 
" Listen, whoever is not asleep, and you will hear a 
muleteer's voice that enchants as it chants." 

"We are listening to it already, senor," said Doro- 
thea; 'on which Cardenio went away. 

It struck Dorothea that it was not fair to let Clara 
325 



326 Don Quixote 

miss hearing such a voice, so, shaking her from 
side to side, she woke her, saying, "Forgive me, 
child, for waking thee, but I do so that thou mayest 
have the pleasure of hearing the best voice thou hast 
ever heard, perhaps, in all thy life." 

Clara awoke quite drowsy, and not understanding 
at the moment Dorothea's words, asked her what it 
was; she repeated what she had said, and Clara be- 
came attentive at once; but she had hardly heard two 
lines, as the singer continued, when a strange trem- 
bling seized her, and throwing her arms round Doro- 
thea she said, " Ah, dear lady of my soul and life ! 
why did you wake me? The greatest kindness for- 
tune could do me now would be to close my eyes and 
ears so as neither to see nor hear that unhappy mu- 
sician." 

"What art thou talking about, child? " said Doro- 
thea. "Why, they say this singer is a muleteer! " 

"Nay, he is the lord of many places," replied 
Clara, " and that one in my heart which he holds so 
firmly shall never be taken from him, unless he be 
willing to surrender it." 

Dorothea was amazed at the ardent language of the 
girl, so she said to her, " You speak in such a way 
that I cannot understand you, Senora Clara; explain 
yourself more clearly, and tell me what is this you 
are saying about hearts and places and this musician 
whose voice has so moved you?" 

On this Clara, afraid that Luscinda might overhear 
her, winding her arms tightly round Dorothea put her 
mouth so close to her ear that she could speak safely 



Chapter XXXVI 327 

without fear of being heard by anyone else, and said, 
"This singer, dear senora, is the son of a gentleman 
of Aragon, lord of two villages, who lives opposite my 
father's house at Madrid: and though my father had 
curtains to the windows of his house in winter, and 
blinds in summer, in some way — I know not how — 
this gentleman, who was pursuing his studies, saw 
me — whether in church or elsewhere, I cannot tell 
— and, in fact, fell in love with me, and gave me to 
know it from the windows of his house, with so many 
signs and tears that I was forced to believe him, and 
even to love him, without knowing what it was he 
wanted of me. One of the signs he used to make me 
was to link one hand in the other, to show me he 
wished to marry me: and though I should have been 
glad if that could be, being alone and motherless I 
knew not whom to open my mind to, and so I left it 
as it was, showing him no favor, except when my 
father, and his too, were from home, to raise the cur- 
tain or the blind a little and let him see me plainly, 
at which he would show such delight that he seemed 
as if he were going mad. Meanwhile the time for 
my father's departure arrived, which he became aware 
of, but not from me, for I had never been able to tell 
him of it. He fell sick, of grief I believe, and so 
the day we were going away I could not see him to 
take farewell of him, were it only with the eyes. But 
after we had been two days on the road, on entering 
the hostelry of a village a day's journey from this, I 
saw h'im at the inn door in the dress of a muleteer, 
and so well disguised, that if I did not carrv his 



328 Don Quixote 

image graven on my heart it would have been im- 
possible for me to recognize him. But I knew him, 
and I was surprised, and glad; he watched me, un- 
suspected by my father, from whom he always hides 
himself when he crosses my path on the road, or in 
the hostelries where we halt; and, as I know what he 
is, and reflect that for love of me he makes this jour- 
ney on foot in all this hardship, I am ready to die of 
sorrow. I know not with what object he has come; 
or how he could have -got away from his father, who 
loves him beyond measure. And moreover, I can 
tell you, all that he sings is out of his own head; for 
I have heard them say he is a great scholar and poet. 
I have never spoken a word to him in my life; and 
for all that I love him so that I could not live without 
him." 

"Say no more, Dona Clara," said Dorothea at this, 
at the same time kissing her a thousand times over, 
"say no more, I tell you, but wait till day comes; 
when I trust in God to arrange this affair of yours so 
that it may have the happy ending such an innocent 
beginning deserves." 

"Ah, senora," said Dona Clara, "what end can 
be hoped for when his father is of such lofty position, 
and so wealthy, that he would think I was not fit to 
be even a servant to his son, much less wife? I 
would not ask anything more than that this youth 
should go back and leave me; perhaps with not 
seeing him, and the long distance we shall have to 
travel, the pain I suffer now may become easier; 
though I dare say the remedy I propose will do me 



Chapter XXXVI 329 

very little good. I don't know how this has come 
about, or how this love I have for him got in; I such 
a young girl, and he such a mere boy; for I verily 
believe we are both of an age, and I am not sixteen 
yet." 

Dorothea could not help laughing to hear how like 
a child Dona Clara spoke. " Let us go to sleep now, 
senora," said she, "for the little of the night that I 
fancy is left to us: God will soon send us daylight, 
and we will set all to rights, or it will go hard with 
me." 

With this they fell asleep, and deep silence reigned 
all through the inn. The only persons not asleep 
were the landlady's daughter and her servant Mar i- 
tornes, who, knowing the weak point of Don Qui- 
xote's humor, and that he was outside the inn 
mounting guard in armor and on horseback, resolved, 
the pair of them, to play some trick on him, or at any 
rate to amuse themselves for a while by listening to 
his nonsense. As it so happened there was not a 
window in the whole inn that looked outwards except 
a hole in the wall of a straw-loft through which they 
used to throw out the straw. At this hole the two 
damsels posted themselves, and observed Don Qui- 
xote on his horse, leaning on his pike and from time 
to time sending forth such deep and doleful sighs, 
that he seemed to pluck up his soul by the roots with 
each of them; and they could hear him, too, saying 
in a soft, tender, loving tone, " O my lady Dulcinea 
del Toboso, perfection of all beauty, summit and 
crown of discretion, treasure house of grace, deposi- 



33° Don Quixote 

tory of virtue, and, finally, ideal of all that is good, 
honorable, and delectable in this world ! What is 
thy grace doing now? Art thou, perchance, mindful 
of thy enslaved knight who of his own free will hath 
exposed himself to so great perils, and all to serve 
thee? Give me tidings of her, O luminary of the 
night! Perhaps at this moment thou art regarding 
her, either as she paces to and fro some gallery of her 
sumptuous palaces, or leans over some balcony, medi- 
tating how she may mitigate the tortures this wretched 
heart of mine endures for her sake." 

Don Quixote had got so far in his pathetic speech 
when the landlady's daughter began to signal to him, 
saying, "Senor, come over here, please." 

At these signals and voice Don Quixote turned his 
head and saw by the light of the moon, which then 
was in its full splendor, that some one was calling to 
him from the hole in the wall, which seemed to him 
to be a window, and what is more, with a gilt grat- 
ing, as rich castles, such as he believed the inn to be, 
ought to have; and it immediately suggested itself 
to his imagination that the fair damsel, the daughter 
of the lady of the castle, overcome by love for 
him, was endeavoring to win his affections: and 
with this idea, not to show himself discourteous, or 
ungrateful, he turned Rocinante's head and ap- 
proached the hole, and as he perceived the two 
wenches he said, "I pity you, beauteous lady, that 
you should have directed your thoughts of love to 
a quarter whence it is impossible that such a re- 
turn can be made to you as is due to your great 



Chapter XXXVI 331 

merit and gentle birth. Forgive me, noble lady, and 
retire to your apartment, and do not, by the declar- 
ation of your passion, compel me to show myself 
ungrateful; and if, of the love you bear me, you 
should find that there is anything else in my power 
wherein I can gratify you, provided it be not love 
itself, demand it of me; for I swear to you by that 
sweet absent enemy of mine to grant it this instant, 
though it be that you require of me a lock of Me- 
dusa's hair, which was all snakes, or even the very 
beams of the sun shut up in a vial." 

"My mistress wants nothing of that sort, Sir 
Knight," said Maritornes at this. 

"What then, discreet dame, is it that your mistress 
wants?" replied Don Quixote. 

"Only one of your fair hands," said Maritornes, 
" to enable her to vent over it the great passion which 
has brought her to this loophole." 

Maritornes felt sure that Don Quixote would pre- 
sent the hand she had asked, and making up her 
mind what to do, she got down from the hole and went 
into the stable, where she took the halter of Sancho 
Panza's ass, and in all haste returned to the hole, just 
as Don Quixote had planted himself standing on Ro- 
cinante's saddle in order to reach the grated window 
where he supposed the love-lorn damsel to be; and 
giving her his hand, he said, "Lady, take this hand, 
or rather this scourge of the evil-doers of the earth; 
take, I say, this hand which no other hand of woman 
has ever touched, not even hers who has complete 
possession of my entire body. I present it to you, 



2^2 Don Quixote 

not that you may kiss it, but that you may observe 
the contexture of the sinews, the close network of 
the muscles, the breadth and capacity of the veins, 
whence you may infer what must be the strength of 
the arm that has such a hand." 

"That we shall see presently," said Maritornes, 
and making a running knot on the halter, she passed 
it over his wrist and coming down from the hole tied 
the other end very firmly to the bolt of the door of 
the straw-loft. 

Don Quixote, feeling the roughness of the rope on 
his wrist, exclaimed, " Your grace seems to be grating 
rather than caressing my hand; treat it not so harshly, 
for it is not to blame for the offence my resolution 
has given you." 

But there was nobody now to listen to these words 
of Don Quixote's, for as soon as Maritornes had tied 
him she and the other made off, ready to die with 
laughing, leaving him fastened in such a way that it 
was impossible for him to release himself. 

He was, as has been said, standing on Rocinante, 
with his arm passed through the hole and his wrist 
tied to the bolt of the door, and in mighty fear and 
dread of being left hanging by the arm if Rocinante 
were to stir one side or the other; so he did not dare 
to make the least movement, although from the pa- 
tience and imperturbable disposition of Rocinante, 
he had good reason to expect that he would stand 
without budging for a whole century. Finding him- 
self fast, then, and that the ladies had retired, he 
began to fancy that all this was done by enchantment. 



Chapter XXXVI 333 

Nevertheless he pulled his arm to see if he could 
release himself, but it had been made so fast that all 
his efforts were in vain, It is true he pulled it gently 
lest Rocinante should move, but try as he might to 
seat himself in the saddle, he had nothing for it but 
to stand upright or pull his hand off. Then it was 
he wished for the sword of Amadis, against which no 
enchantment whatever had any power; then he cursed 
his ill fortune; then he magnified the loss the world 
would sustain by his absence while he remained there 
enchanted, for that he believed he was beyond all 
doubt; then he once more took to thinking of his 
beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called to his 
worthy squire Sancho Panza, who was buried in sleep 
stretched on the pack-saddle of his ass; and then, at 
last, morning found him in such a state of despera- 
tion and perplexity that he was bellowing like a bull, 
for he had no hope that day would bring any relief to 
his suffering, which he believed would last forever, 
inasmuch as he was enchanted; and of this he was 
convinced by seeing that Rocinante never stirred, 
much or little, and he felt persuaded that he and his 
horse were to remain in this state, without eating or 
drinking or sleeping, until the malign influence of 
the stars was overpast, or until some other more sage 
enchanter should disenchant him. 

But he was very much deceived in this conclusion, 
for daylight had hardly begun to appear when there 
came up to the inn four men on horseback, well 
equipped and accoutred, with firelocks across their 
saddle-bows. They called out and knocked loudly at 



334 Don Quixote 

the gate of the inn, which was still shut; on seeing 
which, Don Quixote, even there where he was, did 
not forget to act as sentinel, and said in a loud and 
imperious tone, "Knights, or squires, or whatever ye 
be, ye have no right to knock at the gates of this 
castle; for it is plain enough that they who are within 
are either asleep, or else are not in the habit of throw- 
ing open the fortress until the sun's rays are spread 
over the whole surface of the earth. Withdraw to a 
distance, and wait till it is broad daylight, and then 
we shall see whether it will be proper or not to open 
to you." 

"What fortress or castle is this," said one, "to 
make us stand on such ceremony? If you are the 
innkeeper bid them open to us; we are travellers who 
only want to feed our horses and go on, for we are in 
haste." 

" Do you think, gentlemen, that I look like an inn- 
keeper?" said Don Quixote. 

"I don't know what you look like," replied the 
other; "but I know that you are talking nonsense 
when you call this inn a castle." 

"A castle it is," returned Don Quixote, "nay, 
more, one of the best in this whole province; and it 
has within it people who have had the sceptre in the 
hand and the crown on the head." 

"It would be better if it were the other way," said 
the traveller, " the sceptre on the head and the crown 
in the hand; but if so, maybe there is within some 
company of players, with whom it is a common thing 
to have those crowns and sceptres you speak of; for 



Chapter XXXVI 33S 

in such a small inn as this, and where such silence is 
kept, I do not believe any people entitled to crowns 
and sceptres can have taken up their quarters." 

"You know but little of the world," returned Don 
Quixote, "since you are ignorant of what commonly 
occurs in knight-errantry." 

But the comrades of the spokesman growing weary 
of the dialogue with Don Quixote, renewed their 
knocks with great vehemence, so much so that the 
host, and not only he but everybody in the inn, 
awoke, and he got up to ask who knocked. It hap- 
pened at this moment that one of the horses of the 
four who were seeking admittance went to smell 
Rocinante, who melancholy, dejected, and with 
drooping ears, stood motionless, supporting his sorely 
stretched master; and as he was, after all, flesh, 
though he looked as if he were made of wood, he 
could not help giving way and in return smelling the 
one w r ho had come to offer him attentions. But he 
had hardly moved at all when Don Quixote lost his 
footing; and slipping off the saddle, he would have 
come to the ground, but for being suspended by the 
arm, which caused him such agony that he believed 
either his wrist would be cut through or his arm torn 
off. 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVEN- 
TURES AT THE INN 

SO loud were the shouts of Don Quixote, that 
the landlord opening the gate of the inn 
in all haste, came running in dismay, to see 
who was uttering such cries, and those who were 
outside joined him. Maritornes, who had been by 
this time roused up by the same outcry, suspecting 
what it was, ran to the loft and, without any one 
seeing her, untied the halter by which Don Quixote 
was suspended, and down he came to the ground in 
the sight of the landlord and the travellers, who ap- 
proaching asked him what was the matter with him 
that he shouted so. He without replying a word took 
the rope off his wrist, and rising to his feet leaped on 
Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, put his 
lance in rest, and making a considerable circuit of 
the plain came back at a half-gallop exclaiming, 
"Whoever shall say that I have been enchanted with 
just cause, provided my lady the Princess Micomi- 
cona grants me permission to do so, I give him the 
lie, challenge him and defy him to single combat." 

The newly arrived travellers were amazed at the 
words of Don Quixote; but the landlord removed 

336 



Chapter XXXVII 337 

their surprise by telling them who he was, and not to 
mind him as he was out of his senses. They then 
asked the landlord if by any chance a youth of about 
fifteen years of age had come to that inn, one dressed 
like a muleteer, and of such and such an appearance, 
describing that of Dona Clara's lover. The landlord 
replied that there were so many people in the inn he 
had not noticed the person they were inquiring for; 
but one of them observing the coach in which the 
judge had come, said, "He is here no doubt, for this 
is the coach he is following: let one of us stay at the 
gate, and the rest go in to look for him; or indeed it 
would be as well if one of us went round the inn, lest 
he should escape over the wall of the yard." 

"So be it," said another; and while two of them 
went in, one remained at the gate and the other 
made the circuit of the inn; observing all which, the 
landlord was unable to conjecture for what reason 
they were taking all these precautions, though he 
understood they were looking for the youth whose 
description they had given him. 

It was by this time broad daylight; and for that 
reason, as well as in consequence of the noise Don 
Quixote had made, everybody was awake and up, but 
particularly Dona Clara and Dorothea; for they had 
been able to sleep but badly that night, the one from 
agitation at having her lover so near her, the other 
from curiosity to see him. Don Quixote, when he 
saw that not one of the four travellers took any notice 
of him or replied to his challenge, was furious and 
ready to die with indignation and wrath; and if he 



33$ Don Quixote 

could have found in the ordinances of chivalry that it 
was lawful for a knight-errant to undertake or engage 
in another enterprise, when he had plighted his word 
and faith not to involve himself in any until he had 
made an end of the one to which he was pledged, he 
would have attacked the whole of them, and would 
have made them return an answer in spite of them- 
selves. But considering that it would not become 
him, nor be right, to begin any new emprise until he 
had established Micomicona in her kingdom, he was 
constrained to hold his peace and wait quietly to see 
what would be the upshot of the proceedings of those 
same travellers; one of whom found the youth they 
were seeking lying asleep by the side of a muleteer, 
without a thought of any one coming in search for 
him, much less finding him. 

The man laid hold of him by the arm, saying, " It 
becomes you well indeed, Senor Don Luis, to be in 
the dress you wear, and well the bed in which I find 
you agrees with the luxury in which your mother 
reared you." 

The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared for a 
while at him who held him, but presently recognized 
him as one of his father's servants, at which he was 
so taken aback that for some time he could not utter 
a word; while the servant went on to say, " There is 
nothing for it now, Senor Don Luis, but to submit 
quietly and return home, unless it is your wish that 
my lord, your father, should take his departure for 
the other world, for nothing else can be the conse- 
quence of the grief he is in at your absence." 



Chapter XXXVII 339 

"But how did my father know that I had gone this 
road and in this dress? " said Don Luis. 

" It was a student to whom you confided your inten- 
tions," answered the servant, "that disclosed them, 
touched with pity at the distress he saw your father 
suffer on missing you; he therefore despatched four 
of his servants in quest of you, and here we all are at 
your service, better pleased than you can imagine 
that we shall return so soon and restore you to those 
eyes that so yearn for you." 

"That shall be as I please, or as Heaven orders," 
returned Don Luis. 

"What can you please or Heaven order," said the 
other, "except to agree to go back? Anything else 
is impossible." 

All this conversation between the two was over- 
heard by the muleteer at whose side Don Luis lay, 
and rising, he went to report what had taken place to 
Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by 
this time dressed themselves; and told them how the 
man had addressed the youth as "Don," and what 
words had passed, and how he wanted him to return 
to his father, which the youth was unwilling to do. 
With this, and what they already knew of the rare 
voice that Heaven had bestowed on him, they all 
felt very anxious to know more particularly who 
he was, and even to help him if it was attempted to 
employ force against him ; so they hastened to where 
he was still talking and arguing with his servant. 

Dorothea at this instant came out of her room, 
followed by Dona Clara ; and calling Cardenio 



34° Don Quixote 

aside, she told him in a few words the story of 
the musician and Dona Clara, and he at the same 
time told her what had happened, how his father's 
servants had come in search of him; but in telling 
her so, he did not speak low enough but that Dona 
Clara heard what he said, at which she was so much 
agitated that had not Dorothea hastened to support 
her she would have fallen to the ground. Cardenio 
then bade Dorothea return to her room, as he would 
endeavor to make the whole matter right, and they 
did as he desired. All the four who had come in 
quest of Don Luis had now come into the inn and 
surrounded him, urging him to return and console his 
father at once and without a moment's delay. He 
replied that he could not do so on any account until 
he had concluded some business in which his life, 
honor, and heart were at stake. The servants pressed 
him, saying that most certainly they would not return 
without him, and that they would take him away 
whether he liked it or not. 

"You shall not do that," replied Don Luis, "un- 
less you take me dead." 

By this time most of those in the inn had been 
attracted by the dispute, but particularly Cardenio, 
Don Fernando, his companions, the judge, the curate, 
the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered 
there was no necessity for mounting guard over the 
castle any longer. Cardenio being already acquainted 
with the young man's story, asked the men who wanted 
to take him away, what object they had in seeking to 
carry off this youth against his will. 



Chapter XXXVII 341 

"Our object," said one of the four, "is to save the 
life of his father, who is in danger of losing it through 
this gentleman's disappearance." 

"Let us hear what the whole affair is about," said 
the judge at this; but the man, who knew him as a 
neighbor of theirs, replied, " Do you not know this 
gentleman, Senor Judge? He is the son of your 
neighbor, who has run away from his father's house." 

The judge on this looked at him more carefully and 
recognized him, and embracing him said, "What 
folly is this, Senor Don Luis, or what can have been 
the cause that could have induced you to come here 
in this way, and in this dress, which so ill becomes 
your condition? " 

Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and 
he was unable to utter a word in reply to the judge, 
who told the four servants not to be uneasy, for all 
would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don 
Luis by the hand, he drew him aside and asked the 
reason of his having come there. 

But while he was questioning him they heard a loud 
outcry at the gate of the inn, the cause of which was 
that two of the guests who had passed the night there, 
seeing everybody busy about finding out what it was 
the four men wanted, had conceived the idea of going 
off without paying what they owed; but the landlord, 
who minded his own affairs more than other people's, 
caught them going out of the gate and demanded his 
reckoning, abusing them for their dishonesty with 
such language that he drove them to reply with their 
fists, and so they began to lay on him in such a style 



34 2 Don Quixote 

that the poor man was forced to cry out, and call for 
help. The landlady and her daughter could see no 
one more free to give aid than Don Quixote, and to 
him the daughter said, " Sir Knight, by the virtue God 
has given you, help my poor father, for there are 
two wicked men beating him to a mummy." 

To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phleg- 
matically replied, " Fair damsel, at the present mo- 
ment your request is inopportune, for I am debarred 
from involving myself, in any adventure until I have 
brought to a happy conclusion one to which my word 
has pledged me; but that which I can do for you is 
what I will now mention : run and tell your father to 
stand his ground as well as he can in this battle, and 
on no account to allow himself to be vanquished, 
while I go and request permission of the Princess 
Micomicona to enable me to succor him in his dis- 
tress; and if she grants it, rest assured I will relieve 
him from it." 

"Sinner that I am," exclaimed Maritornes, who 
stood by, "before you have got your permission my 
master will be in the other world." 

" Give me leave, senora, to obtain the permission 
I speak of," returned Don Quixote; "and if I get it, 
it will matter very little if he is in the other world; 
for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same 
world can do; or at any rate I will give you such a 
revenge over those who shall have sent him there that 
you will be more than moderately satisfied"; and 
without saying anything more he went and knelt 
before Dorothea, requesting her Highness in knightly 



Chapter XXXVII 343 

and errant phrase to be pleased to grant him permis- 
sion to aid and succor the castellan of that castle, 
who now stood in grievous jeopardy. The princess 
granted it graciously, and he at once, bracing his 
buckler on his arm and drawing his sword, hastened 
to the inn-gate, where the two guests were still han- 
dling the landlord roughly; but as soon as he reached 
the spot he stopped short and stood still, though 
Maritornes and the landlady asked him why he hesi- 
tated to help their master and husband. 

"I hesitate," said Don Quixote, " because it is not 
lawful for me to draw sword against persons of 
squirely condition; but call my squire Sancho to me; 
for this defence and vengeance are his affair and 
business." 

Thus matters stood at the inn-gate, where there 
was a very lively exchange of fisticuffs and punches, 
to the sore damage of the landlord and to the wrath 
of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who 
were furious when they saw the pusillanimity of Don 
Quixote, and the hard treatment their master, hus- 
band, and father was undergoing. But let us leave 
him there; for he will surely find some one to help 
him, and if not, let him suffer and hold his tongue 
who attempts more than his strength allows him to 
do; and let us go back to see what Don Luis said in 
reply to the judge whom we left questioning him 
privately as to his reasons for coming on foot and so 
meanly dressed. 

To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way 
that showed his heart was troubled by some great sor- 



344 Don Quixote 

row, and shedding a flood of tears, made answer: 
" Senor, I have no more to tell you than that from the 
moment when, through Heaven's will and our being 
near neighbors, I first saw Dona Clara, your daughter 
and my lady, from that instant I made her the mis- 
tress of my will, and if yours, my true lord and father, 
offers no impediment, this very day she shall become 
my wife. For her I left my father's house, and for 
her I assumed this disguise, to follow her whither- 
soever she may go. You know already, senor, the 
wealth and noble birth of my parents, and that I am 
their sole heir; if this be a sufficient inducement for 
you to venture to make me completely happy, accept 
me at once as your son: for if my father, influenced 
by other objects of his own, should disapprove of this 
happiness I have sought for myself, time has more 
power to alter and change things, than human will." 

With this the love-smitten youth was silent, while 
the judge, after hearing* him, was astonished, per- 
plexed, and surprised as well at the manner and in- 
telligence with which Don Luis had confessed the 
secret of his heart, as at the position in which he 
found himself, not knowing what course to take in a 
matter so sudden and unexpected. All the answer, 
therefore, he gave him was to bid him to make his 
mind easy for the present, and arrange with his ser- 
vants not to take him back that day, so that there 
might be time to consider what was best for all parties. 

The guests had by this time made peace with the 
landlord, for, by persuasion and Don Quixote's fair 
words more than by threats, they had paid him what 



Chapter XXXVII 345 

he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were 
waiting for the end of the conversation with the judge 
and their master's decision, when the devil, who 
never sleeps, contrived that the barber, from whom 
Don Quixote had taken Mambrino's helmet, and 
Sancho Panza the trappings of his ass in exchange 
for those of his own, should at this instant enter the 
inn; which said barber, as he led his ass to the stable, 
observed Sancho Panza engaged in repairing some- 
thing or other belonging to the pack-saddle; and the 
moment he saw it he knew it, and made bold to attack 
Sancho, exclaiming, "Ho, Sir Thief, I have caught 
you! hand over my basin and my pack-saddle, and 
all my trappings that you robbed me of." 

Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, 
and hearing the abuse poured on him, seized the 
pack-saddle with one hand and with the other gave 
the barber a cuff straight in the face. The barber, 
however, was not so ready to relinquish the prize he 
had made in the pack-saddle; on the contrary, he 
raised such an outcry that every one in the inn came 
running to know what the noise and quarrel meant. 
"Here, in the name of the king and justice!" he 
cried, "this thief and highwayman wants to kill me 
for trying to recover my property." 

"You lie," said Sancho, "I am no highwayman; it 
was in fair war my master Don Quixote won these 
spoils." 

Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly 
pleased to see his squire's stoutness, both offensive and 
defensive, and from that time forth he reckoned him 



346 Do:: Quixote 

a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub him 
a knight on the first opportunity that presented itself, 
feeling sure that the order of chi -a'.:y would be fit- 
tingly bestowed on him. 

In the course of the altercation, among other things 
the barber said: "Gentlemen, this pack-saddle is 
mine as surely as I owe God a death, and here is m 
ass in the stable who will not let me lie: only try it, 
and if it does not fit him like a glove, call me a ras- 
cal; and what is more, the same day I was robbed of 
this, they robbed me likewise of a new brass basin, 
that would fetch a crown a 

I this Don Quixote could not keep himself from 
answering and interposing between the two, and 
separating them, he placed die pack-saddle on the 
ground, to lie there in sighl until the truth was estab- 
lished, and said: "Your worships may perceive ;'; 
and plainly the error under which this worthy squire 
lies when he calls : asin which was, is, and 

shall be the helmet of Mambrino, which I won from 
him in fair war, and made myself master of by legiti- 
mate and lawful ; >ssession. With the pack-saddle I 
do not concern myself : but I may tell you on that 
head that my squire Sancho asked my permission to 
strip off the caparison of fliis vanquished poltroon's 
steed, and with it adorn his own: I allowed him, and 
he took it: and as to its having been changed from 
a caparison into a pack-saddle, I can give no expla- 
nation except the usual one, that such transforma: 
will take place in adventures of chivalry. To con- 
firm all which, run, Sancho my son, and fetch 



Chapter XXXVII 347 

hither the helmet which this good fellow calls a 
basin." 

"Egad, master," said Sancho, "if we have no 
other proof of our case than what your worship puts 
forward, Mambrino's helmet is just as much a basin 
as this good fellow's caparison is a pack-saddle." 

"Do as I bid thee," said Don Quixote; "it can- 
not be that everything in this castle goes by 
enchantment." 

Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and 
brought it back with him, and when Don Quixote 
saw it, he took hold of it and said, "Your worships 
may see with what a face this squire can assert that 
this is a basin and not the helmet I told you of; and 
I swear by the order of chivalry I profess, that this 
helmet is the identical one I took from him, without 
anything added to or taken from it." 

"There is no doubt of that," said Sancho, "for 
from the time my master won it until now he has 
only fought one battle in it, when he let loose those 
unlucky men in chains; and if it had not been for 
this basin-helmet he would not have come off over 
well that time, for there was plenty of stone-throwing 
in that affair." 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 

IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO'S 
HELMET AND THE PACK-SADDLE IS FINALLY SET- 
TLED. WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT OCCURRED 
IN TRUTH AND EARNEST 

" T T 7 HAT do you think now. gentlemen," said 
\/\/ tn e barber, "of what these gentles say, 
▼ ▼ when they even want to make out that 
this is not a basin but a helmet? " 

"And whoever says the contrary, " said Don Qui- 
xote. "I will let him know he lies if he is a knight, 
and if he is a squire that he lies again a thousand 
times." 

Our own barber, who was present at all this, and 
understood Don Quixote's humor so 'thoroughly, took 
it into his head to back up his delusion and carry on 
the joke for the general amusement; so addressing 
the other barber he said, " Senor Barber, or whatever 
you are. you must know that I belong to your profes- 
sion too, and have had a license to practise for more 
than twenty years, and I know the implements of the 
barber craft, every one of them, perfectly well; and 
I was likewise a soldier for some time in the days of 
my youth, and I know also what a helmet is, and a 
morion, and a headpiece with a visor, and other 

34S ' 



Chapter XXXVIII 349 

things pertaining to soldiering; and I say — saving 
better opinions and always with submission to 
sounder judgments — that this piece we have now 
before us, which this worthy gentleman has in his 
hands, not only is no barber's basin, but is as far 
from being one as white is from black; I say, how- 
ever, that this, although it is a helmet, is not a com- 
plete helmet." 

"Certainly not," said Don Quixote, "for half of it 
is wanting, that is to say the beaver." 

"It is quite true," said the curate, who saw the 
object of his friend the barber; and Cardenio, Don 
Fernando and his companions agreed with him, and 
even the judge helped to carry on the joke. 

"God bless me! " exclaimed their butt the barber 
at this; "is it possible that such an honorable com- 
pany can say that this is not a basin but a helmet? 
Why, this is a thing that would astonish a whole uni- 
versity, however wise it might be! That will do; if 
this basin is a helmet, why, then the pack-saddle must 
be a horse's caparison, as this gentleman has said." 

"To me it looks like a pack-saddle," said Don 
Quixote; "but I have already said that with that 
question I do not concern myself." 

"As to whether it be a pack-saddle or caparison," 
said the curate, "it is only for Sefior Don Quixote 
to say; for in these matters of chivalry all these gen- 
tlemen and I bow to his authority." 

"Gentlemen," said Don Quixote, "so many strange 
things have happened to me in this castle on the two 
occasions on which I have sojourned in it, that I will 



350 Don Quixote 

not venture to assert to anything positively in reply to 
any question touching anything it contains; for it is 
my belief that everything that goes on within it goes 
by enchantment. So that now, for me to come for- 
ward to give an opinion in such a puzzling matter, 
would be to risk a rash decision. As regards the 
assertion that this is a basin and not a helmet I have 
already given an answer; but as to the question 
whether this is a pack-saddle or a caparison I will 
not venture to give a positive opinion, but will leave 
it to your worships' better judgment. Perhaps as 
you are not dubbed knights like myself, the enchant- 
ments of this place have nothing to do with you, and 
your faculties are unfettered, and you can see things 
in this castle as they really and truly are, and not as 
they appear to me." 

"There can be no question," said Don Fernando 
on this, "but that Sefior Don Quixote has spoken 
very wisely, and that with us rests the decision of this 
matter; and that we may have surer ground to go on 
I will take the votes of the gentlemen in secret, and 
declare the result clearly and fully." 

To those who were in the secret of Don Quixote's 
humor all this afforded great amusement; but to those 
who knew nothing about it, it seemed the greatest 
nonsense in the world, in particular to the four ser- 
vants of Don Luis, as well as to Don Luis himself, 
and to four other travellers who had by chance come 
to the inn, and had the appearance of officers of the 
Holy Brotherhood, as indeed they were; but the one 
who above all was at his wit's end, was the barber 



Chapter XXXVIII 351 

whose basin, there before his very eyes, had been 
turned into Mambrino's helmet, and whose pack- 
saddle he had no doubt whatever was about to become 
a rich caparison for a horse. All laughed to see Don 
Fernando going from one to another collecting the 
votes, and whispering to them to give him their pri- 
vate opinion whether the treasure over which there 
had been so much fighting was a pack-saddle or a 
caparison; but after he had taken the votes of those 
who knew Don Quixote, he said aloud, "The fact is, 
my good fellow, that I am tired collecting such a 
number of opinions, for I find that there is not one 
of whom I ask what I desire to know, who does not 
tell me that it is absurd to say that this is the pack- 
saddle of an ass, and not the caparison of a horse, 
nay, of a thoroughbred horse; so you must submit, 
for, in spite of you and your ass, this is a caparison 
and no pack-saddle, and you have stated and proved 
your case very badly." 

"May I never share heaven," said the poor barber, 
"if your worships are not all mistaken; and may my 
soul appear before God as that appears to me a pack- 
saddle and not a caparison; but I say no more; and 
indeed I am not drunk, for I am fasting, except it 
be from sin." 

The simple talk of the barber did not afford less 
amusement than the absurdities of Don Quixote, who 
now observed, "There is no more to be done now 
than for each to take what belongs to him, and to 
whom' God has given it, may St. Peter add his 
blessing." 



352 Don Quixote 

But said one of the four servants, " Unless, indeed, 
this is a deliberate joke, I cannot bring myself to be- 
lieve that men so intelligent as those present are, or 
seem to be, can venture to declare and assert that this 
is not a basin, and that not a pack-saddle; but as I 
perceive that they do assert and declare it, I can only 
come to the conclusion that there is some mystery in 
this persistence in what is so opposed to the evidence 
of experience and truth itself; for I swear by" — 
and here he rapped put a round oath — " all the 
people in the world will not make me believe that 
this is not a barber's basin and that a jackass's pack- 
saddle." 

On hearing this one of the newly arrived officers of 
the Brotherhood, who had been listening to the dis- 
pute and controversy, unable to restrain his anger and 
impatience, exclaimed, " It is a pack-saddle as sure 
as my father is my father, and whoever has said or 
will say anything else must be drunk." 

"You lie like a rascally clown," returned Don Qui- 
xote; and lifting his pike, which he had never let out 
of his hand, he delivered such a blow at his head 
that, had not the officer dodged it, it would have 
stretched him at full length. The pike was shivered 
in pieces against the ground, and the rest of the 
officers, seeing their comrade assaulted, raised a 
shout, calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood. 
The landlord, who was of the fraternity, ran at once 
to fetch his staff of office and his sword, and ranged 
himself on the side of his comrades; the servants of 
Don Luis clustered round him, lest he should escape 



Chapter XXXVIII 353 

from them in the confusion; the barber, seeing the 
house turned upside down, once more laid hold of 
his pack-saddle, and Sancho did the same; Don Qui- 
xote drew his sword and charged the officers ; Don 
Luis cried out to his servants to leave him alone and 
go and help Don Quixote, and Cardenio and Don 
Fernando, who were supporting him ; the curate was 
shouting at the top of his voice, the landlady was 
screaming, her daughter was wailing, Maritornes 
was weeping, Dorothea was aghast, Luscinda terror- 
stricken, and Dona Clara in a faint. The barber 
cudgelled Sancho, and Sancho pommelled the barber; 
Don Luis gave one of his servants, who ventured to 
catch him by the arm to keep him from escaping, a 
cuff that took his breath away; the judge took his 
part; Don Fernando had got one of the officers down 
and was belaboring him heartily; the landlord raised 
his voice again calling for help for the Holy Brother- 
hood; so that the whole inn was nothing but cries, 
shouts, shrieks, confusion, terror, dismay, mishaps, 
sword-cuts, fisticuffs, cudgellings, kicks, and blood- 
shed; and in the midst of all this chaos, complication, 
and general entanglement, Don Quixote took it into his 
head that he had been plunged into the thick of the 
discord of Agramante's 1 camp; and, in a voice that 
shook the inn like thunder, he cried out, " Hold all, 
let all sheathe their swords, let all be calm and attend 
to me as they value their lives ! " 

1 The story of Agramante is found in a long poem of Ariosto's. 
He was' the leader of the Mohammedan kings and princes who 
besieged Paris. Sobrino, referred to later by Don Quixote, was one 
of the kings fighting under Agramante. 
2A 



354 Don Quixote 

All paused at his mighty voice, and he went on to 
say, " Did I not tell you, sirs, that this castle was en- 
chanted, and that a legion or so of devils dwelt in it? 
In proof whereof I call on you to behold with your 
own eyes how the discord of Agramante's camp has 
come hither, and been transferred into the midst of 
us. See how they fight, there for the sword, here for 
the horse, on that side for the eagle, on this for the 
helmet; we are all fighting, and all at cross purposes. 
Come then, you, Senor- Judge, and you, Sefior Curate; 
let the one represent King Agramante and the other 
King Sobrino, and make peace among us; for by 
God Almighty it is a sorry business that so many per- 
sons of quality as we are should slay one another for 
such trifling cause." 

The officers, who did not understand Don Qui- 
xote's mode of speaking, and found themselves 
roughly handled by Don Fernando, Cardenio, and 
their companions, were not to be appeased; the bar- 
ber was, however, for both his beard and his pack- 
saddle were the worse for the struggle; Sancho like a 
good servant obeyed the slightest word of his master; 
while the four servants of Don Luis kept quiet when 
they saw how little they gained by not being so. The 
landlord alone insisted on it that they must punish 
the insolence of this madman, who at every turn 
raised a disturbance in the inn; but at length the 
uproar was stilled for the present; the pack-saddle 
remained a caparison till the day of judgment, and 
the basin a helmet, and the inn a castle in Don Qui- 
xote's imagination. 



Chapter XXXVIII 355 

All having been now pacified and made friends by 
the persuasion of the judge and the curate, the ser- 
vants of Don Luis began again to urge him to return 
with them at once ; and while he was discussing the 
matter with them, the judge took counsel with Don 
Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate as to what he 
ought to do in the case, telling them how it stood, 
and what Don Luis had said to him. It was agreed 
at length that Don Fernando should tell the servants 
of Don Luis who he was, and that it was his desire 
that Don Luis should accompany him to Andalusia; 
for, otherwise, it was easy to see from the determina- 
tion of Don Luis, that he would not return to his 
father at present, though they tore him to pieces. 
On learning the rank of Don Fernando and the reso- 
lution of Don Luis, the four then settled it between 
themselves that three of them should return to tell his 
father how matters stood, and that the other should 
remain to wait on Don Luis, and not leave him until 
they came back for him, or his father's orders were 
known. Thus by the authority of Agramante and the 
wisdom of King Sobrino all this complication of dis- 
putes was arranged; but the devil, enemy of concord 
and hater of peace, feeling himself slighted and made 
a fool of, and seeing how little he had gained after 
having involved them all in such an elaborate en- 
tanglement, resolved to try his hand once more by 
stirring up fresh quarrels and disturbances. 

It came about in this wise : the officers were paci- 
fied on learning the rank of those with whom they 
had been engaged, and withdrew from the contest, 



356 Don Quixote 

considering that whatever the result might be they 
were likely to get the worst of the battle; but one of 
them, the one who had been thrashed and kicked by 
Don Fernando, recollected that among some warrants 
he carried for the arrest of certain delinquents, he 
had one against Don Quixote, whom the Holy Broth- 
erhood had ordered to be arrested for setting the 
galley slaves free. Suspecting how it was, then, he 
wished to satisfy himself as to whether Don Quixote's 
features corresponded; and taking a parchment out 
of his bosom he lit on what he was in search of, 
and setting himself to read it deliberately, for he was 
not a quick reader, as he made out each word he fixed 
his eyes on Don Quixote, and went on comparing the 
description in the warrant with his face, and discov- 
ered that beyond all doubt he was the person described 
in it. As soon as he had satisfied himself, folding up 
the parchment, he took the warrant in his left hand 
and with his right seized Don Quixote by the collar 
so tightly that he did not allow him to breathe, and 
shouted aloud, " Help for the Holy Brotherhood ! and 
that you may see I demand it in earnest, read this 
warrant which says this highwayman is to be arrested." 
The curate took the warrant and saw that what the 
officer said was true, and that it agreed with Don 
Quixote's appearance who, on his part, when he 
found himself roughly handled by this rascally clown, 
worked up to the highest pitch of wrath, and all his 
joints cracking with rage, with both hands seized the 
officer by the throat with all his might, so that had he 
not been helped by his comrades he would have 



Chapter XXXVIII 357 

yielded up his life ere Don Quixote released his hold. 
The landlord, who had perforce to support his brother 
officers, ran at once to aid them. The landlady, 
when she saw her husband engaged in a new quarrel, 
lifted up her voice afresh, and its note was immedi- 
ately caught up by Maritornes and her daughter, call- 
ing on Heaven and all present for help; and Sancho, 
seeing what was going on, exclaimed, "By the Lord, 
it is quite true what my master says about the en- 
chantments of this castle, for it is impossible to live 
an hour in peace in it! " 

Don Fernando parted the officer and Don Quixote, 
and to their mutual contentment made them relax the 
grip by which they held, the one the coat collar, the 
other the throat, of his adversary; for all this, how- 
ever, the. officers did not cease to demand their pris- 
oner and call on them to help, and deliver him over 
bound into their power, as was required for the ser- 
vice of the king and of the Holy Brotherhood, on 
whose behalf they again demanded aid and assistance 
to effect the capture of this robber and footpad of the 
highways and byways. 

Don Quixote smiled when he heard these words, 
and said very calmly, "Come now, base, ill-born 
brood; call ye it highway robbery to give freedom to 
those in bondage, to release the captives, to succor 
the miserable, to raise up the fallen, to relieve the 
needy? Come now; band, not of officers, but of 
thieves; footpads with the license of the Holy Brother- 
hood; tell me who was the ignoramus who signed a 
warrant of arrest against such a knight as I am ? Who 



358 Don Quixote 

was he that did not know that knights-errant are inde- 
pendent of all jurisdictions, that their law is their 
sword. Who, I say again, was the fool that knows 
not that there are no letters patent of nobility that 
confer such privileges or exemptions as a knight- 
errant acquires the day he is dubbed a knight, and 
devotes himself to the arduous calling of chivalry? 
What knight-errant ever paid poll-tax, duty, queen's 
pin-money, king's dues, toll, or ferry? What tailor 
ever took payment of him for making his clothes? 
And, lastly, what knight-errant has there been, is there, 
or will there ever be in the world, not bold enough to 
give, single-handed, four hundred cudgellings to four 
hundred officers of the Holy Brotherhood if they 
come in his way? " 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE 
OFFICERS OF THE HOLY BROTHERHOOD; AND OF 
THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT 
DON QUIXOTE 

WHILE Don Quixote was talking in this 
strain, the curate was endeavoring to per- 
suade the officers that he was out of his 
senses, as they might perceive by his deeds and his 
words, and that they need not press the matter any 
further, for even if they arrested him and carried him 
off, they would have to release him by-and-by as a 
madman; to which the holder of the warrant replied 
that he had nothing to do with inquiring into Don 
Quixote's madness, but only to execute his superior's 
orders, and that once taken they might let him go 
three hundred times if they liked. 

"For all that," said the curate, "you must not take 
him away this time, nor will he, it is my opinion, let 
himself be taken away." 

In short, the curate used such arguments, and Don 
Quixote did such mad things, that the officers would 
have been more mad than he was if they had not 
perceived his want of wits, and so they thought it 
best to allow themselves to be pacified, and even to 

359 



360 Don Quixote 

act as peacemakers between the barber and Sancho 
Panza, who still continued their altercation with much 
bitterness. In the end they, as officers of justice, 
settled the question by arbitration in such a manner 
that both sides were, if not perfectly contented, at 
least to some extent satisfied; for they changed the 
pack-saddles, but not the girths or head-stalls; and 
as to Mambrino's helmet, the curate, without Don 
Quixote's knowing it, paid eight reals for the basin, 
and the barber executed a full receipt and engage- 
ment to make no further demand then or thenceforth 
forevermore, amen. These two disputes, which 
were the most important and gravest, being settled, 
it only remained for the servants of Don Luis to con- 
sent that three of them should return while one w T as 
left to accompany him whither Don Fernando desired 
to take him. Good luck and better fortune, hav- 
ing already begun to solve difficulties and remove 
obstructions in favor of the lovers and warriors of the 
inn, were pleased to persevere and bring everything 
to a happy issue; for the servants agreed to do as 
Don Luis wished; which gave Dona Clara such hap- 
piness that no one could have looked into her face 
just then without seeing the joy of her heart. The 
gift and compensation which the curate gave the bar- 
ber had not escaped the landlord's notice, and he 
demanded Don Quixote's reckoning, together with 
the amount of the damage to his wine-skins, and the 
loss of his wine, swearing that neither Rocinante nor 
Sancho 's ass should leave the inn until he had been 
paid to the very last farthing. The curate settled all 



Chapter XXXIX 361 

amicably, and Don Fernando paid; and all became 
so peaceful and quiet that the inn no longer reminded 
one of the discord of Agramante's camp; for all which 
it was the universal opinion that their thanks were due 
to the great zeal and eloquence of the curate, and to 
the unexampled generosity of Don Fernando. 

Finding himself now clear and quit of all quarrels, 
his squire's as well as his own, Don Quixote consid- 
ered that it would be advisable to continue the jour- 
ney he had begun, and bring to a close that great 
adventure for which he had been called and chosen; 
and with this high resolve he went and knelt before 
Dorothea, who, however, would not allow him to 
utter a word until he had risen; so to obey her he 
rose, and said: "It is a common proverb, fair lady, 
that ' diligence is the mother of good fortune.' This 
I say, exalted and esteemed lady, because it seems 
to me that for us to remain any longer in this castle 
now is useless, and may be injurious to us in a way 
that we shall find out some day: for who knows but 
that your enemy the giant may have learned by means 
of secret and diligent spies that I am going to destroy 
him, and if the opportunity be given him he may 
seize it to fortify himself in some impregnable castle 
or stronghold, against which all my efforts and the 
might of my indefatigable arm may avail but little? 
Therefore, lady, let us, as I say, forestall his schemes 
by our activity, and let us depart at once in quest of 
fair fortune; for your highness is only kept from en- 
joying it as fully as you could desire by my delay in 
encountering your adversary." 



362 Don Quixote 

Don Quixote held his peace and said no more, 
calmly awaiting the reply of the beauteous princess, 
who, with commanding dignity and in a style adapted 
to Don Quixote's own, replied to him in these words: 
" I give you thanks, Sir Knight, for the eagerness you, 
like a good knight to whom it is a natural obligation 
to succor the orphan and the needy, display to afford 
me aid in my sore trouble. x\s to my departure, let it 
be forthwith, for I have no will but yours: dispose 
of me entirely in accordance with your good pleasure." 

"On, then, in God's name!" said Don Quixote; 
" for, when a lady humbles herself to me, I will not 
lose the opportunity of raising her up and placing her 
on the throne of her ancestors. Let us depart at 
once; and as neither heaven has created nor hell 
seen any that can daunt or intimidate me, saddle 
Rocinante, Sancho, and get ready thy ass and the 
queen's palfrey, and let us take leave of the castellan 
and these gentlemen, and go hence this very instant." 

Sancho, who was standing by all the time, said, 
shaking his head, " Ah ! master, master, there is more 
mischief in the village than one hears of, begging all 
good bodies' pardon." 

"What mischief can there be in any village, or in 
all the cities of the world, you booby, that can hurt 
my reputation? " said Don Quixote. 

"If your worship is angry," replied Sancho, "I 
will hold my tongue and leave unsaid what as a good 
squire I am bound to say, and what a good servant 
should tell his master." 

" Say what thou wilt, " returned Don Quixote, " pro- 



Chapter XXXIX 363 

vided thy words be not meant to work on my fears ; 
for thou, when thou fearest, art behaving like thyself; 
but I like myself, when I fear not." 

" It is nothing of the sort, as I am a sinner before 
God," said Sancho, "but that I take it to be sure and 
certain that this lady, who calls herself queen of the 
great kingdom of Micomicon, is no more so than my 
mother; for, if she was what she says, she would not 
go rubbing noses with one that is here every instant 
and behind every door." 

Dorothea turned red at Sancho 's words, for the 
truth was that her husband Don Fernando had now 
and then, when the others were not looking, gathered 
from her lips some of the reward his love had earned ; 
she, however, being unable or not caring to answer 
him, allowed him to proceed, and he continued : 
"This I say, senor, because, if after we have travelled 
roads and highways, and passed bad nights and worse 
days, one who is now enjoying himself in this inn is 
to reap the fruits of our labors, there is no need for 
me to be in a hurry to saddle Rocinante, put the pad 
on the ass, or get ready the palfrey; for it will be 
better for us to stay quiet." 

So great was the indignation of Don Quixote when 
he heard the audacious words of his squire that in a 
voice inarticulate with rage, with a stammering 
tongue, and eyes that flashed living fire, he ex- 
claimed : " Rascally clown, boorish, insolent, and 
ignorant, ill-spoken, foul-mouthed, impudent back- 
biter; and slanderer ! Hast thou dared to utter such 
words in my presence and in that of these illustrious 



364 Don Quixote 

ladies? Hast thou dared to harbor such gross and 
shameless thoughts in thy muddled imagination? 
Begone from my presence, thou monster, store- 
house of lies, hoard of untruths, garner of knaveries, 
inventor of scandals, publisher of absurdities, enemy 
of the respect due to royal personages ! Begone ! 
show thyself no more before me under pain of my 
wrath''; and so saying he" knitted his brows, puffed 
out his cheeks, gazed around him, and stamped en 
the ground violently with his right foot, showing in 
every way the rage that was pent up in his heart; and 
at his words and furious gestures Sancho was so scared 
and terrified that he would have been glad if the earth 
had opened that instant and swal lowed him, and his 
only thought was to turn round and make his escape 
from the angry presence of his master. 

But the ready-witted Dorothea, who by this time 
so well understood Don Quixote's humor, said, to 
mollify his wrath, "Be not irritated at the absurdities 
your good squire has uttered, Sir Knight of the Rue- 
ful Countenance, for perhaps he did not utter them 
without cause, and from his good sense and Christian 
conscience it is not likely that he would bear false 
witness against any one. We may therefore believe, 
without any hesitation, that since, as you say, Sir 
Knight, everything in this castle goes and is brought 
about by means of enchantment, Sancho, I say, may 
possibly have seen, through this diabolical medium, 
what he says he saw so much to the detriment of my 
modesty." 

"I swear by God Omnipotent," exclaimed Don 



Chapter XXXIX 365 

Quixote at this, "your highness has hit the point: 
and that some vile illusion must have come before 
this sinner of a Sancho, that made him see what it 
would have been impossible to see by any other means 
than enchantments; for I know well enough, from 
the poor fellow's goodness and harmiessness, that he 
is incapable of bearing false witness against anybody. " 

"True, no doubt," said Don Fernando, "for which 
reason, Senor Don Quixote, you ought to forgive him 
and restore him to the bosom of your favor." 

Don Quixote said he was ready to pardon him, and 
the curate went for Sancho, who came in very hum- 
bly, and falling on his knees begged for the hand of 
his master, who having presented it to him and allowed 
him to kiss it, gave him his blessing and said, "Now, 
Sancho my son, thou wilt be convinced of the truth 
of what I have many a time told thee, that everything 
in this castle is done by means of enchantment." 

"So it is, I believe," said Sancho, "except the 
affair of the blanket, which came to pass in reality by 
ordinary means." 

The illustrious company had now been two days in 
the inn; and as it seemed to them time to depart, 
they devised a plan so that, without giving Dorothea 
and Don Fernando the trouble of going back with 
Don Quixote to his village under pretence of restor- 
ing Queen Micomicona, the curate and the barber 
might carry him away with them as they proposed, 
and the curate be able to take his madness in hand at 
home; and in pursuance of their plan they arranged 
with the owner of an ox-cart who happened to be 



3 66 



Don Quixote 



passing that way to carry him after this fashion. 
They constructed a kind of cage with wooden bars, 
large enough to hold Don Quixote comfortably; and 
then Don Fernando and his companions, the servants 
of Don Luis, and the officers of the Brotherhood, 
together with the landlord, by the directions and ad- 
vice of the curate, covered their faces and disguised 
themselves, some in one way, some in another, so as 
to appear to Don Quixote quite different from the 
persons he had seen in the castle. This done, in 
profound silence they entered the room where he 
was taking his rest after the past frays, and advancing 
to where he was sleeping tranquilly, not dreaming of 
anything of the kind happening, they seized him 
firmly and bound him fast hand and foot, so that, 
when he awoke startled, he was unable to move, and 
could only marvel and wonder at the strange figures 
he saw before him; on which he at once gave way to 
the idea that all these shapes were phantoms of the 
enchanted castle, and that he himself was unques- 
tionably enchanted as he could neither move nor help 
himself; precisely what the curate, the concocter of 
the scheme, expected would happen. Of all that were 
there Sancho was the only one who was at once in his 
senses and in his own proper character, and he, 
though he was within very little of sharing his mas- 
ter's infirmity, did not fail to perceive who all these 
disguised figures were; but he did not dare to open 
his lips until he saw what came of this assault and 
capture of his master; nor did the latter utter a word, 
waiting to see the upshot of his mishap; which was 



Chapter XXXIX 367 

that, bringing in the cage, they shut him in it and 
nailed the bars so firmly that they could not be easily 
burst open. 

They then took him on their shoulders, and as 
they passed out of the room an awful voice — as 
much so as the barber, not he of the pack-saddle 
but the other, was able to make it — was heard to 
say : " O Knight of the Rueful Countenance, let not 
this captivity in which thou art placed afflict thee, 
for this must needs be, for the more speedy accom- 
plishment of the adventure in which thy great heart 
has engaged thee; the which shall be accomplished 
when the raging Manchegan lion and the white To- 
bosan dove shall be linked together, having first 
humbled their haughty necks to the gentle yoke of 
matrimony. And thou, O most noble and obedient 
squire that ever bore sword at side, beard on face, or 
nose to smell with, be not dismayed or grieved to see 
the flower of knight-errantry carried away thus before 
thy very eyes; for soon, if it so please the Framer of 
the universe, thou shalt see thyself exalted to such a 
height that thou shalt not know thyself, and the 
promises which thy good master has made thee shall 
not prove false. Follow then the footsteps of the 
valiant enchanted knight, for it is expedient that thou 
shouldst go to the destination assigned to both of 
you; and as it is not permitted to me to say more, 
God be with thee ; for I return to that place I wot 
of." 

Don Quixote was comforted by the prophecy he 
heard, for he at once comprehended its meaning per- 



J 



68 Don Ouixote 



fectly, and perceived it was promised to him that he 
should see himself united in holy matrimony with his 
beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; and being thoroughly 
and firmly persuaded of this, he lifted up his voice, 
and with a deep sigh exclaimed, "O thou, whoever 
thou art, who hast foretold me so much good, I implore 
of thee that on my part thou entreat that sage en- 
chanter who takes charge of my interests, that he 
leave me not to perish in this captivity in which 
they are now carrying me away, ere I see fulfilled 
promises so joyful and incomparable as those which 
have been now made me; for, let this but come to 
pass, and I shall glory in the pains of my prison and 
find comfort in these chains wherewith they bind 
me: and touching the consolation of Sancho Panza, 
my squire, I rely on his goodness and rectitude that 
he will not desert me in good or evil fortune; for if, 
by his ill luck or mine, it may not happen to be in 
my power to give him the island I have promised, or 
any equivalent for it, at least his wages shall not be 
lost; for in my will, which is already made, I have 
declared the sum that shall be paid to him. measured, 
not by his many faithful services, but by the means 
at my disposal.' 

Sancho bowed his head very respectfully and kissed 
both his master's hands, for, being tied together, he 
could not kiss one; and then the apparitions lifted 
the cas;e on their shoulders and fixed it on the ox-cart. 



CHAPTER XL 

OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE OF 
LA MANCHA WAS CARRIED AWAY ENCHANTED, TO- 
GETHER WITH OTHER RE^IARKABLE INCIDENTS 

WHEN Don Quixote saw himself caged and 
hoisted on the cart in this way, he said, 
" Many grave histories of knights-errant 
have I read; but never yet have I read, seen, or heard 
of their carrying off enchanted knights-errant in this 
fashion, or at the slow pace that these lazy, sluggish 
animals promise; for they always take them away 
through the air with marvellous swiftness, enveloped 
in a dark thick cloud, or on a chariot of fire, or it 
may be on some hippogriff or other beast of the kind; 
but to carry me off like this on an ox-cart ! It puzzles 
me ! But perhaps the chivalry and enchantments of 
our day take a different course from that of those in 
days gone by; and it may be, too, that, as I am a 
new knight in the world, and the first to revive the 
already forgotten calling of knight-adventurers, they 
may have newly invented other kinds of enchant- 
ments and other modes of carrying off the enchanted. 
What' thinkest thou of the matter, Sancho my son?" 
"I don't know what to think," answered Sancho, 
2B 369 



37° Don Quixote 

"but I venture to say and swear that these apparitions 
that are about us are not quite Catholic." 

"Catholic!" said Don Quixote. "Father of me! 
how can they be Catholic when they are all devils 
that have taken fantastic shapes to come and do this, 
and bring me to this condition? And if thou wouldst 
prove it, touch them, and feel them, and thou wilt 
find they have only bodies of air, and no consistency 
except in appearance," 

"Master," returned -Sancho, "I have touched them 
already: and that devil, that goes about there so 
busily, has firm flesh, and another property very 
different from what I have heard say devils have, for 
by all accounts they all smell of brimstone and other 
bad smells: but this one smells of amber half a league 
off." Sancho was here speaking of Don Fernando 
who, like a gentleman of his rank, was very likely 
perfumed as Sancho said. 

"Marvel not at that, Sancho my friend," said Don 
Quixote; "for let me tell thee devils are crafty; and 
even if they do carry odors about with them, they 
themselves have no smell, because they are spirits; 
or, if they have any smell, they cannot smell of any- 
thing sweet, but of something foul and fetid ; and the 
reason is that they carry hell with them wherever 
they go." 

Such was the conversation that passed between 
master and man; and Don Fernando and Cardenio, 
apprehensive of Sancho' s making a complete discov- 
ery of their scheme, towards which he had already 
gone some way, resolved to hasten their departure, 




DON QUIXOTE ENCHANTED IN THE CAGE 



Chapter XL 371 

and calling the landlord aside, they directed him to 
saddle Rocinante and put the pack-saddle on Sancho's 
ass, which he did with great alacrity. In the mean- 
time the curate had made an arrangement with the 
officers that they should bear them company as far as 
his village, he paying them so much a day. Car- 
denio hung the buckler on one side of the bow of 
Rocinante' s saddle and the basin on the other, and 
by signs commanded Sancho to mount his ass and 
take Rocinante 's bridle, and at each side of the cart 
he placed two officers with their muskets; but before 
the cart was put in motion, out came the landlady 
and her daughter and Maritornes to bid Don Quixote 
farewell, pretending to weep with grief at his mis- 
fortune; and to them Don Quixote said: "Weep not, 
good ladies, for all these mishaps are the lot of those 
who follow the profession I profess; and if these re- 
verses did not befall me I should not esteem myself 
a famous knight-errant. Forgive me, fair ladies, if, 
through inadvertence, I have in aught offended you; 
for intentionally and wittingly I have never done so 
to any; and pray to God that he deliver me from this 
captivity to which some malevolent enchanter has 
consigned me; and should I find myself released 
therefrom, the favors that ye have bestowed on me in 
this castle shall be held in memory by me, that I may 
acknowledge, recognize, and requite them as they 
deserve." 

While this was passing between the ladies of the 
castle 'and Don Quixote, the curate and the barber 
Bade farewell to Don Fernando and his companions, 



37 2 Don Quixote 

to the judge, and the ladies, now all made happy, 
and in particular to Dorothea and Luscinda. 

The curate then mounted, and his friend the barber 
did the same, both masked, so as not to be recog- 
nized by Don Quixote, and set out following in the 
rear* of the cart. The order of march was this : first 
went the cart with the owner leading it ; at each side 
of it marched the officers of the Brotherhood, as has 
been said, with their muskets ; then followed Sancho 
Panza on his ass, leading Rocinante by the bridle ; 
and behind all came the curate and the barber on 
their mighty mules, with faces covered, as aforesaid, 
and a grave and serious air, measuring their pace to 
suit the slow steps of the oxen. Don Quixote was 
seated in the cage, with his hands tied and his feet 
stretched out, leaning against the bars as silent and 
as patient as if he were a stone statue and not a man 
of flesh. Thus slowly and silently they made, it 
might be, two leagues, until they reached a valley 
which the carter thought a convenient place for rest- 
ing and feeding his oxen, and he said so to the 
curate, but the barber was of opinion that they ought 
to push on a little farther, as at the other side of a 
hill which appeared close by he knew there was a 
valley that had more grass and much better than the 
one where they proposed to halt ; and his advice was 
taken and they continued their journey. 

Just at that moment the curate, looking back, saw 
coming on behind them six or seven mounted men, 
well found and equipped, who soon overtook them, 
for they were travelling, not at the sluggish, delib- 



Chapter XL 373 

erate pace of oxen, but like men in haste to take 
their noontide rest as soon as possible at the inn 
which was in sight not a league off. The quick 
travellers came up with the slow, and courteous salu- 
tations were exchanged ; and one of the newcomers, 
who was, in fact, a canon of Toledo and master of 
the others who accompanied him, observing the regu- 
lar order of the procession, the cart, the officers, 
Sancho, Rocinante, the curate, and the barber, and 
above all Don Quixote caged and confined, could not 
help asking what was the meaning of carrying the 
man in that fashion ; though, from the badges of the 
officers, he already concluded that he must be some 
desperate highwayman or other malefactor whose 
punishment fell within the jurisdiction of the Holy 
Brotherhood. One of the officers to whom he had 
put the question replied, " Let the gentleman him- 
self tell you the meaning of his going this way, senor, 
for we do not know." 

Don Quixote overheard the conversation and said : 
" Haply, gentlemen, you are versed and learned in 
matters of chivalry? Because if you are I will tell 
you my misfortunes ; if not, there is no good in my 
giving myself the trouble of relating them " \ but here 
the curate and the barber, seeing that the travellers 
were engaged in conversation with Don Quixote, 
came forward, in order to answer in such a way as to 
save their stratagem from being discovered. 

The canon, replying to Don Quixote, said, " In 
truth, 'brother, if that be all, you may safely tell me 
what you please." 



374 Don Quixote 

" In God's name, then, senor," replied Don Qui- 
xote, " I would have you know that I am held en- 
chanted in this cage by the envy and fraud of wicked 
enchanters. I am a knight-errant, of those who, in 
defiance and in spite of envy itself, and all the 
magicians, will place their names in the temple of 
immortality to serve as examples and patterns for 
ages to come." 

"What Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha says," 
observed the curate, ." is the truth: for he goes en- 
chanted in this cart, not from any fault or sins of his. 
but because of the malevolence of those to whom 
virtue is odious and valor hateful." 

When the canon heard both the prisoner and the 
man who was at liberty talk in such a strain he was 
ready to cross himself in his astonishment, and could 
not make out what had befallen him ; and all his 
attendants were in the same state of amazement. 

At this point Sancho Panza, who had drawn near 
to hear the conversation, said, in order to make 
everything plain, " Well, sirs, you may like or dislike 
what I am going to say, but the fact of the matter is, 
my master, Don Quixote, is just as much enchanted 
as my mother. He is in his full senses, he eats and 
he drinks. And if that's the case what do they 
mean by wanting me to believe that he is enchanted? 
For I have heard many a one say that enchanted 
people neither eat, nor sleep, nor talk ; and my mas- 
ter, if you don't stop him, will talk more than thirty 
lawyers." Then turning to the curate he exclaimed, 
" Senor Curate, Senor Curate ! do you think I don't 



Chapter XL 375 

know you? Do you think I don't guess and see the 
drift of these new enchantments? Well then, I can 
tell you I know you, for all your face is covered, and 
I can tell you I am up to you, however you may hide 
your tricks. If it had not been for your worship 
my master would be married to the Princess Mico- 
micona this minute, and I should be a count at least. 
But I see now how true it is what they say in these 
parts, that the wheel of fortune turns faster than 
a mill-wheel, and that those who were up yesterday 
are down to-day. I am sorry for my wife and chil- 
dren, for when they might fairly and reasonably 
expect to see their father return to them a governor 
or viceroy of some island or kingdom, they will see 
him come back a horse-boy." 

"Trim those lamps there!" exclaimed the barber 
at this ; " so you are of the same fraternity as your 
master, too, Sancho? I begin to see that you will 
have to keep him company in the cage, and be en- 
chanted like him for having caught some of his humor 
and chivalry." 

" Mind how you talk, Master Barber," said Sancho, 
" for shaving is not everything. x\s to the enchant- 
ment of my master, God knows the truth : leave it as 
it is \ it will only make it worse to stir it." 

The barber did not care to answer Sancho lest by 
his plain speaking he should disclose what the curate 
and he himself were trying so hard to conceal ; and 
under the same apprehension the curate had asked 
the canon to ride on a little in advance, so that he 
might tell him the mystery of this man in the cage, 






376 Don Quixote 

and other things that would amuse him. The canon 
agreed, and going on ahead with his servants, listened 
with attention to the account oi the character, life, 
madness, and ways of Don Quixote, given him by the 
curate, who described to him briefly the beginning 
and origin of his craze, and told him the whole story 
of his adventures up to his being confined in tiie cage a 
together with the plan they had of taking him home 
to try if by any means they could discover a cure for 
his madness. 

The canon and his servants were surprised anew 
when they heard Don Quixote's strange story, and 
when it was finished he said: "To tell the truth, 
Senor Curate, I for my part consider what they call 
books of chivalry to be mischievous to the 8:: 
and though, led by idle and false taste, I have read 
the beginnings of almost all that have been printed, 
I never could manage to read any one of them from 
beginning to end: for it seems to me they are all 
more or less the same thing; and one has nothing 
more in it than another. And in my opinion this 
sort of writing and composition is full of monstrous 
nonsense. What beauty can there be in a book 
or fable where a lad of sixteen cuts down a giant 
as tall as a steeple and makes two halves of him 
as if he was an almond cake ? And when they 
want to give us a picture of a battle, after having 
told us that there are a million of combatants on 
the side of the enemy, let the hero of the book be 
opposed to them, and we have perforce to believe 
that the said knight wins the victory bv the single 



Chapter XL 377 

might of his strong arm. And then, what shall we 
say of the facility with which a born queen or empress 
will give herself over into the arms of some unknown 
wandering knight? What mind, that is not wholly 
barbarous and uncultured, can find pleasure in read- 
ing of how a great tower full of knights sails away 
across the sea like a ship with a fair wind, and will be 
to-night in Lombardy and to-morrow morning in the 
land of the Indies. I have never yet seen any book 
of chivalry that puts together a connected plot. And 
besides all this they are harsh in their style, prolix in 
their battles, silly in their arguments, absurd in their 
travels, and, in short, wanting in everything like in- 
telligent art; for which reason they deserve to be 
banished from the Christian commonwealth as a 
worthless breed." 

The canon and the curate had proceeded thus far 
with their conversation, when the barber, coming 
forward, joined them, and said to the curate, "This 
is the spot, Sefior Licentiate, that I said was a good 
one for fresh and plentiful pasture for the oxen, while 
we take our noontide rest." 

"And so it seems," returned the curate and he 
told the canon what he proposed to do, on which he 
too made up his mind to halt with them, attracted by 
the aspect of the fair valley that lay before their eyes; 
and to enjoy it as well as the conversation of the 
curate, to whom he had begun to take a fancy, and 
also to learn more particulars about the doings of Don 
Quixote, he desired some of his servants to go on to 
the inn, which was not far distant, and fetch from it 



378 Don Quixote 

what eatables there might be for the whole party, as 
he meant to rest for the afternoon where he was; to 
which one of his servants replied that the sumpter 
mule, which by this time ought to have reached the 
inn, carried provisions enough to make it unneces- 
sary to get anything from the inn except barley. 

"In that case," said the canon, "take all the beasts 
there, and make the sumpter mule come back." 

While this was going on, Sancho, perceiving that 
he could speak to his master without having the curate 
and the barber, of whom he had his suspicions, pres- 
ent all the time, approached the cage in which Don 
Quixote was placed, and said, "Senor, to ease my 
conscience I want to tell you the state of the case as 
to your enchantment, and that is that these two here, 
with their faces covered, are the curate of our village 
and the barber; and I suspect they have hit on this 
plan of carrying, you off in this fashion, out of pure 
envy because your worship surpasses them in doing 
famous deeds; and if this be the truth it follows that 
you are not enchanted, but hoodwinked and made a 
fool of." 

"Sancho my son," returned Don Quixote, "as to 
what thou sayest, that these who accompany us yonder 
are the curate and the barber, our neighbors and ac- 
quaintances, it is very possible that they may seem 
to be those same persons; but that they are so in 
reality and in fact, believe it not on any account; 
what thou art to believe and think is that, if they look 
like them, as thou sayest, it must be that those who 
have enchanted me have taken this shape and like- 



Chapter XL 379 

ness; for it is easy for enchanters to take any form 
they please, and they may have taken those of our 
friends in order to make thee think as thou dost, and 
lead thee into a labyrinth of fancies from which thou 
wilt find no escape." 



CHAPTER XLI 

"WHICH TREATS OF THE SHREWD CONVERSATION WHICH 
SANCHO PAXZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER DON 
QUIXOTE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS 

" T KNOW and feel that I am enchanted/' said Don 
Quixote to his squire, "and that is enough to 

A ease my conscience; for it would weigh heavily 
on it if I thought that I was not enchanted, and that 
in a faint-hearted and cowardly way I allowed myself 
to lie in this cage, defrauding multitudes of the suc- 
cor I might afford to those in need and distress, who 
at this very moment may be in sore want of my aid 
and protection." 

" Still for all that," replied Sancho, "I say that, 
for your greater and fuller satisfaction, it would be 
well if your worship were to try to get out of this 
prison (and I promise to do all in my power to help, 
and even to take you out of it), and see if you could 
once more mount your good Rocinante, who seems to 
be enchanted too, he is so melancholy and dejected; 
and then we might try our chance in looking for ad- 
ventures again; and if we have no luck there will be 
time enough to go back to the cage ; in which, on the 
faith of a good and loyal squire, I promise to shut 
myself up along with your worship, if so be you are 

3S0 



Chapter XLI 381 

so unfortunate, or I so stupid, as not to be able to 
carry out my plan." 

"I am content to do as thou sayest, brother San- 
cho," said Don Quixote, "and when thou seest an 
opportunity for effecting my release I will obey thee 
absolutely; but thou wilt see, Sancho, how mistaken 
thou art in thy conception of my misfortune." 

The knight-errant and the squire kept up their 
conversation till they reached the place where the 
curate, the canon, and the barber, who had already 
dismounted, were waiting for them. The carter at 
once unyoked the oxen and left them to roam at large 
about the pleasant green spot, the freshness of which 
seemed to invite, not enchanted people like Don 
Quixote, but wide-awake, sensible folk like his squire, 
who begged the curate to allow his master to leave 
the cage for a little. The curate said he would very 
gladly comply with his request, only that he feared 
his master, finding himself at liberty, would take to 
his old courses and make off where nobody could ever 
find him again. 

"I will answer for his not running away," said 
Sancho. 

" And I for everything," said the canon, " especially 
if he gives me his word as a knight not to leave us 
without our consent." 

Don Quixote, who was listening to all this, said 
he would give it; and that moreover one who was 
enchanted as he was could not do as he liked with 
himself; for he who had enchanted him could pre- 
vent his moving from one place for three ages, and 



382 Don Quixote 

if he attempted to escape would bring him back 
flying. 

The canon took his hands, tied together as they 
both were, and on his word and promise they unbound 
him, and rejoiced beyond measure he was to find 
himself out of the cage. The first thing he did was 
to stretch himself all over, and then he went to where 
Rocinante was standing and giving him a couple of 
slaps on the haunches said, "I still trust in God, 
O flower and mirror of steeds, that we shall soon see 
ourselves, both of us, as we wish to be, thou with thy 
master on thy back, and I mounted on thee, follow- 
ing the calling for which God sent me into the world. ,, 

The canon gazed at him, wondering at the extraor- 
dinary nature of his madness, and that in all his 
remarks and replies he should show such excellent 
sense, and only lose his stirrups, as has been already 
said, when the subject of chivalry was broached. 
And so, moved by compassion, he said to him, as 
they all sat on the green grass awaiting the arrival of 
the provisions : " Is it possible, gentle sir, that the 
nauseous and idle reading of books of chivalry can 
have had such an effect on your worship as to upset 
your reason so that you fancy yourself enchanted? 
How can there be any human understanding that can 
persuade itself there ever was all that infinity of Ama- 
dises in the world, or all that multitude of famous 
knights, all those palfreys, and damsels, and serpents, 
and monsters, and giants, and marvellous adventures, 
and enchantments of every kind, and battles, and 
prodigious encounters, splendid costumes, love-sick 



Chapter XLI 383 

princesses, squires made counts, droll dwarfs, love- 
letters, billings and cooings, and, in a word, all that 
nonsense the books of chivalry contain? Come, 
Senor Don Quixote, have some compassion for your- 
self, return to the bosom of common sense, and make 
use of the liberal share of it that Heaven has been 
pleased to bestow on you, employing your abundant 
gifts of mind in some other reading that may serve to 
benefit your conscience and add to your honor." 

Don Quixote listened with the greatest attention 
to the canon's words, and when he found he had fin- 
ished, after regarding him for some time, he replied 
to him, " It appears to me, gentle sir, that your wor- 
ship's discourse is intended to persuade me that there 
never were any knights-errant in the world, and that 
all the books of chivalry are false, lying, mischievous 
and useless to the State, and that I have done wrong 
in reading them, and worse in believing them, and 
still worse in imitating them, when I undertook to 
follow the arduous calling of knight-errantry which 
they set forth." 

"It is all exactly as you state it," said the canon. 

"Well then," returned Don Quixote, "to my mind 
it is you who are the one that is out of his wits and 
enchanted, as you have ventured to utter such blas- 
phemies against a thing so universally acknowledged 
and accepted as true. To try to persuade anybody 
that Amadis, and all the other knights-adventurers 
with whom the books are filled, never existed, would 
be like trying to persuade him that the sun does not 
yield light. Books that have been printed with the 



384 



Don Quixote 



king's license, and read with universal delight, and 
extolled by great and small, rich and poor, learned 
and ignorant, gentle and simple, in a word by people 
of every sort, of whatever rank or condition they may 
be — that these should be lies! Hush, sir; utter not 
such blasphemy ; trust me, I am advising you now to 
act as a sensible man should; only read them, and 
you will see the pleasure you will derive from them. 
For, come, tell me, can there be anything more de- 
lightful than to see, as it were, here now displayed 
before us a vast lake of bubbling pitch with a host of 
snakes and serpents and lizards, and ferocious and 
terrible creatures of all sorts swimming about in it, 
while from the middle of the lake there comes a plain- 
tive voice saying, ' Knight, whosoever thou art who 
beholdest this dread lake, if thou wouldst win the 
prize that lies hidden beneath these dusky waves, 
prove the valor of thy stout heart and cast thyself into 
the midst of its dark burning waters, else thou shalt 
not be worthy to see the mighty wonders contained 
in the seven castles of the seven Fays that lie beneath 
this black expanse ' ; and then the knight, almost ere 
the awful voice has ceased, without stopping to con- 
sider, without pausing to reflect on the danger to 
which he is exposing himself, without even relieving 
himself of the weight of his massive armor, com- 
mending himself to God and to his lady, plunges 
into the midst of the boiling lake, and when he little 
looks for it, or knows what his fate is to be, he finds 
himself among flowery meadows, with which the 
Elysian fields are not to be compared. The sky 



Chapter XLI 385 

seems more transparent there, and the sun shines 
with a strange brilliancy, and a delightful grove of 
green leafy trees presents itself to the eyes and charms 
the sight with its verdure, while the ear is soothed by 
the sweet untutored melody of the countless birds of 
gay plumage that flit to and fro among the interlacing 
branches. Here he sees a brook whose limpid waters, 
like liquid crystal, ripple over fine sands and white 
pebbles that look like sifted gold and purest pearls. 
There he perceives a cunningly wrought fountain of 
many-colored jasper and polished marble. Suddenly 
there is presented to his sight a strong castle or gor- 
geous palace with walls of massy gold, turrets of dia- 
mond and gates of jacinth; in short, so marvellous is 
its structure that though the materials of which it is 
built are nothing less than diamonds, carbuncles, 
rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds, the workmanship 
is still more rare. And after having seen all this, 
what can be more charming than to see how a bevy 
of damsels comes forth from the gate of the castle in 
gay and gorgeous attire, such that, were I to set my- 
self now to depict it as the histories describe it to us, 
I should never have done; and then how she who 
seems to be the first among them all takes the bold 
knight who plunged into the boiling lake by the hand, 
and without addressing a word to him leads him into 
the rich palace or castle, and anoints him with sweet- 
smelling unguents, while another damsel comes and 
throws over his shoulders a mantle which is said to 
be worth at the very least a city, and even more? 
How charming it is, then, when they tell us how, after 

2C 



386 Don Quixote 

all this, they lead him to a chamber where he finds 
the tables set out in such style that he is filled with 
amazement and wonder; to see how they pour out 
water for his hands distilled from amber and sweet- 
scented flowers; how they seat him on an ivory chair; 
to see how the damsels wait on him all in profound 
silence; how they bring him such a variety of dain- 
ties so temptingly prepared that the appetite is at a 
loss which to select; to hear the music that resounds 
while he is at table, by 'whom or whence produced he 
knows not. And then when the repast is over and 
the tables removed, for the knight to recline in the 
chair, picking his teeth perhaps as usual, and a dam- 
sel, much lovelier than any of the others, to enter un- 
expectedly by the chamber door, and seat herself by 
his side, and begin to tell him what the castle is, and 
how she is held enchanted there, and other things that 
amaze the knight and astonish the readers who are 
perusing this history. 

"But I will not expatiate any further on this, as 
it may be gathered from it that whatever part of 
whatever history of a knight-errant one reads, it 
will fill the reader, whoever he be, with delight and 
wonder; and take my advice, sir, and, as I said 
before, read these books and you will see how they 
will banish any melancholy you may feel and raise 
your spirits should they be depressed. For myself 
I can say that since I have been a knight-errant I 
have become valiant, polite, generous, well-bred, 
magnanimous, courteous, dauntless, gentle, patient, 
and have learned to bear hardships, imprisonments, 






Chapter XLI 387 

and enchantments ; and though it be such a short time 
since I have seen myself shut up in a cage like a 
madman, I hope by the might of my arm, if Heaven 
aid me and fortune thwart me not, to see myself king 
of some kingdom where I may be able to show the 
gratitude and generosity that dwell in my heart. For 
this reason I should be glad were fortune soon to 
offer me some opportunity of making myself an em- 
peror, so as to show my heart in doing good to my 
friends, particularly to this poor Sancho Panza, my 
squire, who is the best fellow in the world." 

The canon was astonished at the methodical non- 
sense that Don Quixote uttered, at the way in which 
he had described the adventure of the knight of the 
lake, and at the impression that the deliberate lies of 
the books he read had made on him. 



CHAPTER XLII 

OF THE QUARREL THAT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE 
GOATHERD, TOGETHER WITH THE RARE ADVENTURE 
OF THE PENITENTS, WHICH WITH AN EXPENDITURE 
OF SWEAT HE BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION 

BY this time the canon's servants, who had gone 
to the inn to fetch the sumpter mule, had re- 
turned, and making a carpet and the green grass 
of the meadow serve as a table, they seated themselves 
in the shade of some trees and made their repast there. 
As they were eating they suddenly heard a loud noise 
and the sound of a bell that seemed to come from 
among some brambles and thick bushes that were 
close by, and the same instant they observed a beau- 
tiful goat, spotted all over black, white, and brown, 
spring out of the thicket with a goatherd after it, 
calling to it and uttering the usual cries to make it 
stop or turn back to the fold. The fugitive goat, 
scared and frightened, ran towards the company as 
if seeking their protection and then stood still, and 
the goatherd coming up seized it by the horns and 
began to talk to it as if it were possessed of reason 
and understanding : " Ah wanderer, wanderer, Spotty, 
Spotty; how have you gone limping all this time? 
What wolves have frightened you, my daughter? 

388 



Chapter XLII 389 

Won't you tell me what is the matter, my beauty? 
Come back, come back, my darling; and if you will 
not be so happy, at any rate you will be safe in the 
fold or with your companions; for if you who ought 
to keep and lead them, go wandering astray in this 
fashion, what will become of them? " 

The goatherd's talk amused all who heard it, but 
especially the canon, who said to him : " As you live, 
brother, take it easy, and be not in such a hurry to 
drive this goat back to the fold. Take this morsel 
and drink a sup, and that will soothe your irritation, 
and in the meantime the goat will rest herself," and 
so saying, he handed him the loins of a cold rabbit 
on a fork. 

The goatherd took it with thanks, and drank and 
calmed himself, and then, noticing Don Quixote's 
sorry appearance and looks, he was filled with wonder 
and asked the barber, who was next him, " Senor, 
who is this man who makes such a figure? " 

"Who should it be," said the barber, "but the 
famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, the undoer 
of injustice, the righter of wrongs, the protector 
of damsels, the terror of giants, and the winner of 
battles?" 

"That," said the goatherd, "sounds like what one 
reads in the books of the knights-errant, who did all 
that you say this man does; though it is my belief 
that either you are joking or else this gentleman has 
empty lodgings in his head." 

"You are a great scoundrel," said Don Quixote, 
"and it is you who are empty and a fool "; and pass- 



390 Don Quixote 

ing from words to deeds, he caught up a loaf that was 
near him and sent it full in the goatherd's face, with 
such force that he flattened his nose: but the goat- 
herd, who did not understand jokes, and found him- 
self roughly handled in such good earnest, paying 
no respect to carpet, tablecloth, or diners, sprang 
on Don Quixote, and seizing him by the throat with 
both hands would no doubt have throttled him, had 
not Sancho Panza that instant come to the rescue, and 
grasping him by the shoulders flung him down on the 
table, smashing plates, breaking glasses, and upsetting 
and scattering everything on it. Don Quixote, 
rinding himself free, strove to get on top of the goat- 
herd, who, with his face covered with blood, and 
soundly kicked by Sancho, was on all fours feeling 
about for one of the table-knives to take a bloody 
revenge with. The canon and the curate, however, 
prevented him, but the barber so contrived it that the 
goatherd got Don Quixote under him, and rained 
down on him a shower of fisticuffs. The canon and 
the curate were bursting with laughter, the officers 
were capering with delight, and both the one and the 
other hissed the combatants on as they do dogs that 
are worrying one another in a fight. Sancho alone 
w r as frantic, for he could not free himself from the 
grasp of one of the canon's servants, who kept him 
from going to his master's assistance. 

While they were all thus e'ngaged they heard a trum- 
pet sound a note so doleful that it made them look in 
the direction whence the sound seemed to come. But 
the one that was most excited by hearing it was Don 



Chapter XLII 391 

Quixote, who, though sorely against his will he was 
under the goatherd, and something more than pretty 
well pommelled, said to him, " Brother devil (for it 
is impossible but that thou must be one since thou 
hast had might and strength enough to overcome 
mine), I ask thee to agree to a truce for but one 
hour, for the solemn note of yonder trumpet that falls 
on our ears seems to me to summon me to some new 
adventure." 

The goatherd, who was by this time tired of pom- 
melling and being pommelled, released him at once, 
and Don Quixote rising to his feet and turning his 
eyes to the quarter where the sound had been heard, 
suddenly saw coming down the slope of a hill several 
men clad in white like penitents. 

The fact was that the clouds had that year with- 
held their moisture from the earth, and in all the vil- 
lages of the district they were organizing processions 
and penances, imploring God to open the hands of 
his mercy and send them rain; and to this end the 
people of a village that was hard by were going in 
procession to a holy hermitage there was on one side 
of that valley. Don Quixote, when he saw the strange 
garb of the penitents, without reflecting how often he 
had seen it before, took it into his head that this 
was a case of adventure, and that it fell to him alone 
as a knight-errant to engage in it; and he was all the 
more confirmed in this notion, by the idea that an 
image draped in black they had with them was some 
illustrious lady that these villains and discourteous 
thieves were carrying off by force. As soon as this 



39 2 Don Quixote 

occurred to him he ran with all speed to Rocinante 
who was grazing at large, and taking the bridle and 
the buckler from the saddle-bow, he had him bridled 
in an instant, and calling to Sancho for his sword he 
mounted Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, 
and in a loud voice exclaimed to those who stood by, 
"Now noble company, ye shall see how important it 
is that there should be knights in the world professing 
the order of knight-errantry; now, I say, ye shall see ; 
by the deliverance of that worthy lady who is borne 
captive there, whether knights-errant deserve to be 
held in estimation," and so saying he brought his legs 
to bear on Rocinante — for he had no spurs — and at 
a full canter set off to encounter the penitents, though 
the curate, the canon, and the barber ran to prevent 
him. 

But it was out of their power, nor did he even stop 
for the shouts of Sancho calling after him, "Take 
care what you are doing, senor, for this time it may 
be safely said you don't know what you are about." 

Sancho labored in vain, for his master was so 
bent on coming to quarters with these sheeted fig- 
ures and releasing the lady in black that he did not 
hear a word; and even had he heard, he would not 
have turned back if the king had ordered him. He 
came up with the procession and reined in Rocinante, 
who was already anxious enough to slacken speed a 
little, and in a hoarse, excited voice he exclaimed, 
"'You who hide your faces, perhaps because you are 
not good subjects, pay attention and listen to what I 
am about to say to you." 



Chapter XLII 393 

The first to halt were those who were carrying the 
image, and one of the four eccle iastics who were 
chanting the Litany, struck by the strange figure of 
Don Quixote, the leanness of Rocinante, and the 
other ludicrous peculiarities he observed, said in 
reply to him, " Brother, if you have anything to say 
to us say it quickly, for we cannot stop, nor is it 
reasonable we should stop to hear anything, unless 
indeed it is short enough to be said in two words." 

"I will say it in one," replied Don Quixote, "and 
it is this; that at once, this very instant, ye release 
that fair lady whose tears and sad aspect show plainly 
that ye are carrying her off against her will ; and I, 
who was born into the world to redress all such like 
wrongs, will not permit you to advance another step 
until you have restored to her the liberty she pines 
for and deserves." 

From these words all the hearers concluded that 
he must be a madman, and began to laugh heartily, 
and their laughter acted like gunpowder on Don 
Quixote's fury, for drawing his sword without another 
word he made a rush at the stand. One of those 
who supported it, leaving the burden to his comrades, 
advanced to meet him, flourishing a forked stick that 
he had for propping up the stand when resting, and 
with this he caught a mighty cut Don Quixote made 
at him that severed it in two; but with the portion 
that remained in his hand he dealt such a thwack on 
the shoulder of Don Quixote's sword arm that poor 
Don Quixote came to the ground in a sad plight. 

Sancho Panza, who was coming on close behind 



394 Don Quixote 

puffing and blowing, seeing him fall, cried out to his 
assailant not to strike him again, for he was a poor 
enchanted knight, who had never harmed any one all 
the days of his life; but what checked the clown was, 
not Sancho's shouting, but seeing that Don Quixote 
did not stir hand or foot; and so, fancying he had 
killed him, he hastily hitched up his tunic under his 
girdle and took to his heels across the country like a 
deer. 

By this time all Don Quixote's companions had 
come up to where he lay; but the processionists see- 
ing them come running, and with them the officers of 
the Brotherhood with their muskets, apprehended 
mischief, and clustering round the image, raised their 
hoods, and grasped their scourges, as the priests did 
their tapers, and awaited the attack, resolved to de- 
fend themselves and even to take the offensive against 
their assailants if they could. Fortune, however, 
arranged the matter better than they expected, for all 
Sancho did was to fling himself on his master's body, 
raising over him the most doleful lamentation that 
ever was heard, for he believed he was dead. The 
curate was known to another curate who walked in 
the procession, and their recognition of one another 
set at rest the apprehensions of both parties; the 
first then told the other who Don Quixote was, and 
he and the whole troop of penitents went to see if the 
poor gentleman was dead, and heard Sancho Panza 
saying, with tears in his eyes : " O flower of chivalry, 
that with one blow of a stick hast ended the course 
of thy well-spent life ! O pride of thy race, honor 



Chapter XLII 395 

and glory of all La Mancha, nay, of all the world, 
that for want of thee will be fall of evil-doers, no 
longer in fear of punishment for their misdeeds ! " 

At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote 
came to himself, and the first word he said was : " He 
who lives separated from you, sweetest Dulcinea, has 
greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, 
friend Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am 
not in a condition to press the saddle of Rocinante, 
as this shoulder is all knocked to pieces.' 5 

"That I will do with all my heart, senor," said 
Sancho: "and let us return to our village with these 
gentlemen, who seek your good, and there we will 
prepare for making another sally, which may turn out 
more profitable and creditable to us." 

"Thou art right, Sancho," returned Don Quixote; 
" it will be wise to let the malign influence of the stars 
which now prevails pass off." 

The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he 
would act very wisely in doing as he said; and so they 
placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The pro- 
cession once more formed itself in order and pro- 
ceeded on its road; the goatherd took his leave of 
the party; the officers of the Brotherhood declined to 
go any farther, and the curate paid them what was 
due to them; the canon begged the curate to let him 
know how Don Quixote did, whether he was cured of 
his madness or still suffered from it, and then begged 
leave to continue his journey; in short, they all sepa- 
rated and went their ways, leaving to themselves the 
curate and the barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, 



396 Don Quixote 

and the good Rocinante, who regarded everything 
with as great resignation as his master. The carter 
yoked his oxen and made Don Quixote comfortable 
on a truss of hay, and at his usual deliberate pace took 
the road the curate directed, and at the end of six 
days they reached Don Quixote's village, and entered 
it about the middle of the day, which it so happened 
was a Sunday, and the people were all in the plaza, 
through which Don Quixote's cart passed. They all 
flocked to see what was ' in the cart, and when they 
recognized their townsman they were filled with 
amazement, and a boy ran off to bring the news to 
his housekeeper and his niece that their master and 
uncle had come back all lean and yellow and stretched 
on a truss of hay on an ox-cart. It was piteous to 
hear the cries the two good ladies raised, how they 
beat their breasts and poured out fresh maledictions 
on those accursed books of chivalry; all which was 
renewed when they saw Don Quixote coming in at the 
gate. 

At the news of Don Quixote's arrival Sancho 
Panza's wife came running, for she by this time knew 
that her husband had gone away with him as his 
squire, and on seeing Sancho, the first thing she 
asked him was if the ass was well. Sancho replied 
that he was, better than his master was. 

" Thanks be to God," said she, "for being so good 
to me; but now tell me, my friend, what have you 
made by your squirings? What gown have you 
brought me back? What shoes for your children?" 

"I bring nothing of that sort, wife," said Sancho; 



Chapter XLII 397 

"though I bring other things of more consequence 
and value." 

" I am very glad of that," returned his wife; " show 
me these things of more value and consequence, my 
friend; for I want to see them to cheer my heart that 
has been so sad and heavy all these ages that you have 
been away." 

"I will show them to you at home, wife," said 
Sancho; "be content for the present; for if it please 
God that we should again go on our travels in search 
of adventures, you will soon see me a count, or gov- 
ernor of an island, and that not one of those every- 
day ones, but the best that is to be had." 

"Heaven grant it, husband," said she, "for indeed 
we have need of it. But tell me, what's this about 
islands, for I don't understand it?" 

"Don't be in such a hurry to know all this, Teresa," 
said Sancho; "it is enough that I am telling you the 
truth, so shut your mouth. But I may tell you this 
much by the way, that there is nothing in the world 
more delightful than to be a person of consideration, 
squire to a knight-errant, and a seeker of adventures. 
To be sure most of those one finds do not end as 
pleasantly as one could wish, for out of a hundred 
that one meets with, ninety-nine will turn out cross 
and contrary. I know it by experience, for out of 
some I came blanketed, and out of others belabored. 
Still, for all that, it is a fine thing to be on the look- 
out for what may happen, crossing mountains, search- 
ing woods, climbing rocks, visiting castles, and put- 
ting up at inns, all at free quarters." 



398 Don Quixote 

While this conversation passed between Sancho 
Panza and his wife, Don Quixote's housekeeper and 
niece took him in and laid him in his old bed. He 
eyed them askance, and could not make out where he 
was. The curate charged his niece to be very care- 
ful to make her uncle comfortable and to keep a 
watch over him lest he should make his escape from 
them again, telling her what they had been obliged 
to do to bring him home. On this the pair once 
more lifted up their voices and renewed their male- 
dictions on the books of chivalry, and implored 
Heaven to plunge the authors of such lies and nonsense 
into the midst of the bottomless pit. They w T ere, in 
short, kept in anxiety and dread lest their uncle and 
master should give them the slip the moment he 
found himself somewhat better, and as they feared so 
it fell out. 

But the author of this history, though he has de- 
voted research and industry to the discovery of the 
deeds achieved by Don Quixote in his third sally, has 
been unable to obtain any information respecting 
them. 



AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



KATHARINE LEE BATES, 

Wellesley College. 
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A HISTORY 

OF 

EARLY ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Being the History of English Poetry from its Beginnings 
to the Accession of King Alfred. 

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WITH MAPS. 

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A HISTORY 



ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 



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A HISTORY 

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A HISTORY 

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BY 

GEORGE SAINTSBURY, 

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University of Edinburgh. 

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